Close Encounters 4
by chezchuckles
Summary: Diamonds Are Forever - Follows Beckett and Castle as they complete covert assignments across Europe. It is necessary to have read CE1-3, though 3.5 not so much. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Close Encounters 4: Diamonds Are Forever**

* * *

**(let's be honest here) story by: cartographical**

**written by: chezchuckles**

* * *

When he stepped off the bus at the Palace of Versailles, Beckett was with him. As a couple on a European whirlwind tour, they looked the part - casual clothes, backpacks, Kate in her Ray Bans and her hair pulled back into a bun.

He'd realized early on in this first mission that Beckett was a hard person to hide. She was naturally alluring, and she almost invited a stranger's gaze. Castle had to keep reminding himself that no, that man wasn't from a rival agency - he was just stunned by the way the light hit Kate's dark hair and shimmered. And no, that woman wasn't following them; she was just struck by the flawless skin and perfect combination of stylish and shabby in Kate's wardrobe.

He'd had to adjust to the way the world watched her, wanted her.

"Mm, fascinating," she said in his ear, her lips a breath away from his skin. Castle turned and smiled at her, gathered her hand.

"What is?"

"Don't know. Aren't I supposed to make small talk? Provide your cover?" she murmured with a lift of her lips.

"You do a terrible job of providing me cover," he said - a joke he'd often repeated. Because it was true and it wasn't. Everyone was so busy looking at her, entranced by her, that Castle could get away with murder.

And he might have to. Despite this assignment supposedly being an easy one.

"Stop whining, you big bully," she said back. "You can't bring me down. I feel great. And I'm in Versailles. With you. Working - this is _work_. Versailles is work. Gorgeous."

"Yes, you are," he said softly, too softly, because she then heard how much he meant it, how utterly besotted with her he was.

She raised an eyebrow and shrugged her shoulders under her messenger bag - her one concession to being shot in May of this year. It was only November, and she was amazingly well recovered; she still couldn't carry much, so Castle had most of their possessions in his backpack.

"My contact's somewhere on the grounds of the garden," he said, trying to change the subject. He didn't want her to know what he had planned for this weekend when they went to Rome - couldn't let her know - and she might figure it out just by the stupid infatuation in his voice.

"Let's go then, super - ah. . ." She flushed under his gaze, shook her head. "Slipped out. You need a new nickname. One I can actually use."

He laughed at that and pushed his thumb up under the strap at her shoulder, checking again to be sure she really had it. Beckett was silent but reproachful as she watched him; he withdrew his hand and instead turned for the gardens at the Palace. He led them roundabout to the Orangerie - mostly because he wanted her to see everything and not just to keep it looking casual.

"All right, I'll stop whining," he promised. "You be thinking of a pet name."

"Did I _say_ pet name? No. I did not. I said nickname. I do not _do_ pet names."

"Yeah, baby, you do."

"Shut the hell up."

"Aw, sweetheart-"

"I hate you," she glared, bumping hips with him - hard. He had to take a few steps to right himself and she was still scowling, but there was just so much joy behind it.

The spy stuff would be different for her - he'd known it would be hard to adjust to, difficult to get a handle on. But she was actually very good; she said her stint in Vice helped. But not having the 12th at her back was the real problem.

He'd wanted to ease her into his world, have her come slowly. Black only had contact with Castle - not with Beckett - and this mission was a cake walk.

Should be, anyway. If his contact would just show up-

And right at that moment, he spotted the man from a yard away - red umbrella, navy winter coat, briefcase-

Face drawn up in a rictus of agony.

Castle's heart pounded and he clutched Beckett's hand tighter, walked smoothly past the man he was supposed to be sitting down to meet on that very same park bench where the man was now dying.

"Rick," she murmured, her eyes darting to his. She could tell; she'd spotted him too.

He shook his head, kept his face clear, effortless, mindless really. She followed his lead but he felt the slick sweat of anticipation in her grip.

From behind them, a woman in the crowd gasped and called out for help, her French stilted and not-native - probably a tourist.

Kate gripped his hand harder.

"Turn to look," he murmured, glancing back over his shoulder just like everyone else had around them. "Kate. Turn to-"

She did, and he saw the grim understanding in her eyes.

"That was our contact," she muttered under her breath.

He sighed. He thought for sure this would be an easy mission - meet the informant, get the information, move on.

Nothing was ever easy with Kate Beckett.

* * *

"Superman?" he said.

Beckett caressed the edge of her buttery soft leather satchel as she settled it in her lap, hummed in pleasure as she finally lifted her face to his. His brief kiss wasn't entirely for show, and she felt the way he adored her, the nuzzle of his nose into hers. It helped ease the ragged edge of her need to _do_, solve - investigate.

"In your dreams," she breathed. She was not calling him superman.

"Look at me," he laughed. "My dreams come true."

"Posing in the Palace Gardens as a happily married couple with your girlfriend who isn't allowed to go back to the NYPD because she was shot by a senator is a _dream come true_?"

"Uh. Parts?"

She rolled her eyes but found her act unconvincing, even to herself.

His contact was dead.

"Are you going to make a play for that briefcase?" she murmured, scraping her teeth at his jaw. They were sitting on the lip of the reflecting pool a few hedges over from the Orangerie where the man in the navy coat and red umbrella had died, the paramedics now gone. Their contact had managed to drop his briefcase at the designated spot before his death had occurred. When he'd been taken to the hospital, most likely dead, the kind-hearted strangers who'd rushed to his aid hadn't noticed the briefcase. It still sat pushed half into a hedge behind the park bench, tantalizing.

Other tourists had gone back to their strolls, a few natives were bundled up and enjoying the gardens as well, but she and Castle had stuck around to see what happened next. It wouldn't be a good idea to go running if the CIA contact's killer was nearby watching.

Beckett wasn't stupid; she was used to the shadowed world of informants and organized crime - spying was't much different.

Castle's fingers came to her knee and played there, stroking, and she knew he was thinking, formulating a plan. Yesterday in Paris when he'd set up this meeting, he'd had the same abstracted look on his face, had played with her hair as she sat in the window. He'd made one phone call, a brief message that she assumed now had been code for Palace Gardens, 12:00 noon, tomorrow.

"I don't think you should get it just yet," she murmured finally, lifted her fingers to his jaw to reclaim a portion of his attention. "At your five is a man who has been particularly out of place for the last hour, and I noticed him near our guy. Just beyond the reflecting pool is a couple who didn't turn to look when it happened, and they've stuck around as well-"

He grunted and she received a hot, fierce kiss that did something to warm up her cold lips, her stinging nose. She curled her hand at his neck and hung on for the ride, sucking on his tongue when he tried to leave.

He shivered hard and she let him go.

"You're right," he growled finally. "Plus two more. A woman who's been circling like a vulture and-"

"And another woman who has actually been following us," she said finally. "Though it's possible she's enchanted by my ruggedly handsome super-"

His eyebrow lifted.

"Superman," she sighed, couldn't help the twitch of her lips as she gave in and said it.

"Uh-huh, that's what I'm talking about, baby."

"You baby me one more time and I'll be your kryptonite."

His smile curled wide, that seductive hint at the edges, and she ignored it. She did. She was ignoring the heat in her belly too, and the still-stroking fingers at her knee, and the way his voice dipped lower to speak her name.

"Kate. Love."

Ignoring it. Totally.

"I won't be able to snag the briefcase. But."

She sucked in a breath and glanced at him, intrigued by the plan hatching in his eyes.

"But?"

"If you create a diversion, I might be able to sneak a look inside - perhaps even steal the contents."

"A diversion?"

"Get to it, sweetheart."

* * *

Oh, wow. This woman was good.

Very good.

She was a natural at the spy game.

Castle left her to her little act - the flighty and giggling enchantment of a woman that could not possibly be Detective Kate Beckett - and he slipped towards the park bench at the Palace of Versailles, aiming for that briefcase. Their likely suspects were all back by the reflecting pool, in various stages of amusement and interest as Beckett made something of a fool of herself for an artist sketching her.

Castle would have to find a way to get that sketch when they were through.

Of course, the Orangerie was filled with tourists and visitors, and he quickly took the stairs down. He could feel the cold in his lungs, and he jogged as fast as he dared towards the orange garden, needing to be casual but also pressed for time. When he got to the lower level, the park bench wasn't quite deserted, but Castle sat at the far edge with his coat loose around him, hunched his shoulders as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. The briefcase was right there and he took one last look around before snagging it.

It was locked, but he worked the thin blade of his knife into the leather behind the mechanism, as quickly as he dared, until the clasp popped free. Castle did the other side and then opened the briefcase, still at his feet, with a swift hand.

Shit.

File folders.

Surely not. The informant couldn't really have brought him _file folders_ to a meeting like this. Beyond stupid to take actual information out of the consulate. Damn stupid-

Ah, yes. Much better.

Castle's fingers had been testing the briefcase's pockets, looking for a hiding place, and then he'd found it. A flash drive in a hidden compartment near the pen holder. Perfect. He palmed the drive, closed the briefcase, shoved it back towards the hedge, and swiftly left the area.

When he made it back to the commotion surrounding Beckett, he made sure to tuck the flash drive into the hidden pocket of his belt - not fancy, not James Bond-worthy, but it would do for now. He stayed at the edges of the crowd, began to slowly, easily work his way up again.

He let the drama go on, Kate goofing off for the sketch artist who was laughing and flirting with her, and he watched as she stood on her tiptoes at the lip of the relfecting pool, her coat open to reveal the deep emerald of her sweater, the narrow hug of her waist. A photographer was calling out to her - tourist or professional, Castle had no idea - and she received instructions in French, clearly understanding only a handful of words.

He waited until she spotted him, impressed by her flawless performance even when she knew the act was no longer necessary, and he stepped up next to the sketch artist as the man finished with a flourish.

"_Combien_?" he asked, gesturing towards the sketch and then to glancing up to Kate with a smile. She was giving him an elaborate and wide smile, tossing her hair with a hand as she stepped back down to the ground.

"_Pour elle, c'est gratuit_." The sketch artist bowed and handed him the drawing with a performance of his own, and the little crowd that had gathered to watch were applauding. Castle bowed back and saw the couple they'd been keeping their eyes on had drifted away, either satisfied with the performance or not spies at all.

Hard to say.

Kate joined him before the artist; Castle could see her flushing pink and pretty in the late afternoon light.

"_Merci, merci_," she was murmuring, allowing the kisses to her cheeks, clasping arms with the artist like they were old friends.

The photographer worried him, but the man had wormed his way into their circle with his camera, showing Kate the images he'd taken. Most were close-ups not of Kate's face, but of the smooth line of her arm blurred by the man's focus on the Palace in the background or the fall of her hair over the reflecting pool.

In fact, as Kate politely admired the man's work, Castle realized not a single photo was of her face. Which was a crime, really, since she was so very gorgeous, but the photographer was an _artiste_, he was into the _postmoderne_ movement, he said.

_Magnifique._

Kate turned back for her bag and slung it over her shoulder, laughing with the artist and the photographer as they all tried to find some common words. Castle kept the sketch in his fingers and Kate lifted the flap of her messenger bag, carefully helped him guide it inside to keep it from getting bent. Her fingers were chilled, her nose and cheeks were red, but she was grinning.

He felt her grip on his elbow in subtle _get me out of here_, and he gently eased them both away from the crowd, calling back _merci_ and hoping to find their path back to the bus.

When they'd managed to put some distance between themselves and the little show still going on back there - the sketch artist was calling for a new model, teasing a blonde woman in crowd of onlookers - Kate leaned her head against his shoulder and gave a long breath of laughter.

"Wow."

He grinned and kissed her temple. "You most definitely are."

"Did you-?"

"Something. Not sure what it is yet. But thank you. You were perfect."

She lifted her chin and met his eyes as if expecting him to be joking, but he wasn't. At all. She was perfect.

Kate pushed up on her toes and kissed him quickly, reached up to rub chapstick from his lips.

"That was exhilarating."

"You're quite good at it. I've never seen you so. . ."

"Stupid?"

"Free," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

So beautifully uninhibited.

* * *

His amusement was no longer endearing. She rolled her eyes at that smirk twisting his lips and elbowed him in the ribs as the bus jolted back to Paris.

He oofed and snagged her elbow, guided her to lean back against him. She wriggled into his side, then finally gave it up and let him manhandle her where he wanted her to go.

He was getting entirely too attached to their cover.

She lifted her lips to his jaw and spoke through the soft kiss she gave him. "When we get home, the touching - this constant _touching_, Castle - that's the first thing to go."

"I know," he murmured, tripping his fingers along her sweater at her ribs. "That's why I'm getting it in while I still can."

She shook her head softly against him, her nose brushing his ear. "I hate you."

"I know you do, Beckett."

"You gonna show me what you got?"

"When we're back," he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. She knew there were all these unwritten rules that Castle had, rules he didn't consciously know he had until a situation like this came up. Apparently, _no talking about what we just did_ was one of them. Did he think their bus mates would notice? Did he think they were always being watched?

Or did he not want to jinx things?

She couldn't be sure. But she quit asking about whatever it was he'd found, trusted that he'd tell her, show her, when the time was right.

So she let herself lean into his side and watched the scenery go by the bus window.

* * *

It bothered her to not be investigating the man's death. Her mind flipped over the details one by one, establishing the kill zone and time of death and the narrow window of opportunity. She itched to create a timeline, plan it out. Leaving the scene of the crime, not even looking it over let alone interview witnesses - hardest thing she'd ever done.

Not her job though.

In fact, Castle hustled her upstairs to their walk-up before she could even pause to look at the Jardin du Luxembourg right outside.

Sigh.

Being a spy wasn't always that fun. She wanted to roam around Paris and find out-of-the-way places to jump him, her legs around his waist and his back to the brick wall of some crumbling old edifice, an alley with a moped, the helment dangling from the handlebars, a girl selling flowers just around the corner.

Something romantic.

She was a cop though. She understood it wasn't meant to be.

Didn't mean she couldn't jump him in their tiny one-bedroom apartment.

Business first though.

She pulled the bag off her shoulder and dropped it in the entryway, toed off her shoes as she unbuttoned her coat. Castle had already slipped his off and draped it over a kitchen bar stool, and now he came to her with a grin flickering at his lips, his hands to her waist and rucking up her sweater.

"Your skin is warm," he murmured, diving in to kiss her mouth.

She hummed into it, pushing her body closer, glad he'd had the same idea. His fingers stroked up her spine and danced at the scar, light and cool, easing, and she kissed him harder for it, stroked her tongue along his teeth and deeper. He growled and framed her ribs with his hands, pushed her against the wall.

She tucked her fingers at his belt.

Castle jerked at her touch, stepped back with his dark pupils rimmed blue, his breath coming in pants. He groaned and dislodged her fingers from his belt.

Work, first? Really? Damn.

And then he unbuckled his belt himself, worked his fingers at the leather strangely. She hadn't realized it was so _complicated_, just a damn belt, Castle-

A flash drive popped free of some kind of hidden pocket and she gaped up at him. He gave her a strangled smile, obviously disappointed, and she took over working at his belt, drew it through the loops and off.

"Later," he sighed.

"Or real quick?" she murmured, lifting an eyebrow and going back for his pants.

He swayed, one hand gripping the flash drive, and then he pressed her back against the wall with a muttered curse. Kate grinned and rolled her hips into him, nipped at his jaw, his lip, until he started moving again.

* * *

"That was not real quick," he muttered.

She hummed and curled her body around his, sprawled over his chest as his fingers circled up and down her back. He liked playing with her hair, arranging it over her shoulders, hiding the scar from the bullet wound, revealing it, framing it. She seemed content to let him touch, despite what she'd said on the bus, so he did.

But he pulled the flash drive from the night stand with his other hand, held it up to the dim light trickling in through the shutters. Her mouth was suddenly at his collarbone, and her teeth scraping, but she'd drawn a knee up in that position he knew meant she wanted to sleep.

"What do you think is on it?" she murmured.

"Not my place to know," he shrugged, palming it again. He shouldn't leave it lying around.

"Are you kidding me?" she chuckled.

"No. I just send it on to the next man."

"Who gets it?" She was sliding her arm around his waist, shifting over him, so he cupped the back of her knee to keep her there. "I mean. Do we travel to the next place and just. . .hand it over?"

"Yes. There's a man in Rome."

"Seriously?" she laughed, lifting her head to prop her chin on his chest. "Why don't we just take it back to the States with us?"

"Too dangerous."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Rick Castle."

"What?"

"Are you. . .handling me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are we skipping things that you'd normally have to do because I'm-"

"No," he assured her. "This is routine. The guy in Rome vetts the information and gets it to where it needs to go. It's not safe to take a flash drive in to CIA headquarters and just upload the contents."

She was still narrowing her eyes at him, so he squeezed her knee and rolled over her. She arched into him, almost involuntarily, and he kissed her softly, painting her lips.

"We should leave soon," he murmured.

She stroked her hands down and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder.

"Soon?" she laughed.

"Ish."


	2. Chapter 2

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

She should have realized it wouldn't be a direct flight to Rome, not in this business. They stopped first in Bern, Switzerland, and walked aimlessly through the Old City. It was near-freezing temperatures and her fingers and nose were numb, so Castle bought her gloves and a scarf from a ski shop.

She was awed by his German, which sounded different to her ears than any she'd heard before. Kate had a natural ability for languages, was fluent in Russian and passable in Italian - thus Spanish and French weren't completely foreign. But his German sounded. . .native.

"It's Bernese German," he murmured when she couldn't seem to get over it. "A specific dialect. I'm surprised you can hear the difference."

She shrugged, watched the sales woman hand back Castle's credit card. A company card. He pocketed the receipt in an inner compartment of his coat, gave Kate the card to slip back into her messenger bag.

Her passport was her own, though not in her bag with their money and itinerary. She had it taped together with his, and he kept them bandaged against his chest. She was still fascinated by the level of thought that had to go into every aspect of their plans, by the way he created alternate stories in his head of what _might_ happen so that he could prevent it.

He carried a weapon, but she did not, a fact that irritated her when she felt confident but scared the shit out of her when she was alone in a foreign city, waiting on an unknown contact, any manner of problems waiting to arise.

She flexed her fingers in the gloves and he wrapped the thick green scarf around her neck, tugged.

She smiled at him, received his kiss with a nudge of her nose, and hooked her hands in the pockets of his coat to bring him closer. She didn't have a weapon, but she had him.

"What now?" she murmured.

"Keep at the game," he said, letting her go.

* * *

They had eight hours and then it was back on a plane. This time it was an airstrip outside of Bern with a pilot who grunted his answers and reeked of alcohol. Kate shot Castle a look, but he seemed unaware or uninterested, was grabbing her hand and tugging her to the back.

A cargo plane. Shit.

She could feel her back seizing up just at the idea. Still, she strapped herself into the cargo net, perched on thin strip of metal for a seat, let Castle check her safety harness even though she knew it was secure.

"Bully," she muttered, flashing him a look.

He grinned back and got in his own seat beside her, called up to the pilot that they were ready. Her bag was still around her shoulder, but Castle had locked his backpack into the cargo area, clipped it to the webbing.

"Where to now?" she said over the sound of the engines starting.

Castle grinned and leaned in to kiss her soundly, a press of his teeth into her lips before he pulled back.

"Now to Rome."

* * *

Passports weren't stamped, of course, and it was just another airstrip cut into a section of brown field and forest. Her heart rate still hadn't eased, but it wasn't out of fear, just pain. She fumbled at the safety restraint and found she couldn't move her shoulder to get out.

Beckett grunted and twisted her torso, the ache of the long flight over Italy giving her back a crushing tension. She got to her feet slowly and even the messenger bag over her shoulder felt like she was carrying boulders. Still, Castle was talking to the pilot in German, something about their return trip, no doubt, and she had to move.

She had to move.

She forced her foot forward into the aisle, stumbled when her boot caught the straps of the webbing. She managed to keep her balance with a death grip in the harness, then untangled herself and stood again. The bag was a weight that threw her, made her back cramp on one side, but she ignored it and moved forward to the cockpit.

Intense physical therapy had given her a capacity for pain she never would've known she had, and it saw her through the next four hours:

Jumping down from the plane into Castle's upraised arms, sliding down his body as he grinned at her with a salacious growl. Driving a motorcycle through the countryside, her hands unsteady and sweating on the handlebars, wishing he'd - just this once - not actually listened to her fierce independence and instead had made her ride on the back of his. Dismounting to find a farm before them, Castle leading her through the dead field towards the barn with a soft look in his eye, nostalgia and memories, even as she fought to stay upright.

When she was confronted with the ladder to the hayloft, she gave up.

"I can't," she admitted, closing her eyes on a groan.

"Kate?"

"I can't do it."

"S-sorry. I thought it would be - maybe romantic. There's heat up there. The whole barn is heated because they breed these special horses - expensive-"

"No," she said softly, opening her eyes to look at him. Sweet man. "No, I mean. I can't get up there. My arms won't-" She grunted and shook her head, the motorcycle helmet in her fingers, the wood of the ladder warm beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes again and sighed.

"Oh, shit. Your back. It was the plane ride, wasn't it? It's rough - I should've thought-"

"No," she said, shook her head at him. Even that movement made her back spasm, and she was glad she'd already leaned against the ladder. "No special accommodations. I'll be fine. Just need sleep and some pain reliever."

His face fell and she wondered what he'd been planning instead-

Oh. Duh.

Hayloft, Beckett.

"A nap?" she suggested, biting her bottom lip. "An hour. Can you-"

"Kate," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not-"

"But you had it all planned, didn't you?" she said, reaching out to grasp his wrist and draw him closer. "The loft. But maybe you can help me get up there?"

"Kate."

"I can do it. With your help. Please?" She wanted to have this moment with him in an Italian barn; he was trying to be romantic. Paris had been fun but not nearly what she'd been hoping for, and he'd seen that and was trying to do something special. She wouldn't ruin it now.

He studied her for a long time, and then he slipped his fingers under her messenger bag and tugged it off her shoulder. "I'll take everything up. And then we'll go up together."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow, easing her tongue inside his mouth until he was breathless and pressing her back against the ladder.

"It's a deal," she murmured.

* * *

He was an idiot for not thinking of it. Her back - her shoulder really - and he should've realized when she'd been so quiet. At least the damn barn was heated and the loft had a bed. He'd arranged for the kid who usually slept up here to be in the main house tonight because he thought it would be romantic, but he was an idiot.

She settled her back against him and moved her feet in time with his; they made it up the ladder together, his chest bearing the brunt of her weight until she had to climb over at the top. He helped her to her feet and guided her to the bed, echoed her smile when she sank into the feather mattress with a soft sigh of pleasure.

He knelt down at her feet and untied her laces, worked the boots off and then her socks. Her long toes curled and popped, and he leaned down to kiss the arch of her foot, rubbing his thumb over the warm, sweaty skin. Sock fuzz seemed adorable on Beckett - why was that?

"Get comfortable," he murmured. "I'll massage your back until you fall asleep."

"An hour," she said. "Only an hour."

He just raised an eyebrow at her and came to his hands and knees on the bed over her, drawing her coat down her arm. It looked like she was trying to help, but she winced and he had to do the rest.

"An hour, Castle. Don't make me set an alarm."

"I'll just turn it off."

"I have an internal alarm, you asshole."

"You need sleep-"

"I need you," she muttered, rolling her eyes at him even as the force of his body over hers pushed her back into the bed. Her hands came unerringly to the sensitive skin at his side, then that spot at his jaw, and his arms trembled as he tried to resist.

"Kate."

"Or now, and sleep later," she murmured, her mouth sealing hotly at his neck and her tongue-

"Kate," he grunted, felt himself falling over her, their hips flush. Somewhere through the swamp of lust, he also felt the tension of her body as she adjusted, and he managed to roll off, panting. "An hour. Fine. An hour."

She hummed and curled next to him, hooking her fingers in his coat. He still had his damn coat on. She'd managed to get him completely flustered and highly aroused and he still had on his coat.

"You drive me crazy," he muttered.

"You gonna rub my shoulders or what, super spy?"

He laughed and turned his head to look at her; she was already struggling against sleep. Castle sat up and yanked off his coat, headed for his backpack and her pain meds. When he turned back around with a bottle of water as well, he had to wake her up to take them.

She groaned and swallowed them down, scissored her legs in the bed as she tried to get under the covers. "Strip me, Castle."

"Do what?" he laughed.

"Clothes off. My sweater is scratchy and I don't wanna sleep in my jeans. Plus you said massage. Get moving."

"Now who's the bully?" he grinned. But he couldn't help reaching out to stroke the hair away from her face, kiss the soft, pliant lips of her smile.

* * *

She woke naturally and realized Castle was sprawled out at her side in the bed. It was maybe a little too warm up here, and he'd pulled off his shoes and his sweater to lie down in his jeans and soft undershirt.

Kate hummed and tested her reach, found that the pain reliever had done the trick, that and the heat in the loft. She lifted up onto one elbow and moved closer to Castle, slid her knee over his thigh and peered down at him.

He'd forgotten to get his hair cut again, and the longer length flopped into his eyes now that he was at rest. She skimmed a hand through it to push it back, let her see his face. The scar over his eyebrow called out to her fingers and she danced them lightly above it, not yet wanting to wake him.

Her hair fell forward and she tossed it back, leaned against his chest to press her mouth to his chin, felt with her teeth that dimple and the scruff that grew in after a day's work. She bit and sucked at his skin, heard him grunt and startle awake.

"Beckett," he gasped. He sounded surprised, and she liked that, liked being able to rise up over him and make him a little unhinged.

"Hey there," she murmured. "Woke early."

"Yeah," he said inanely, his eyes opening to her. Dark, such a dark blue, his left eye a little bigger then the other one so that when she hovered over him like this, he looked aroused and helpless and urgent.

She liked that a lot.

Kate settled on top of him, scraped a hand through his thick, brown hair and to the nape of his neck, came in to claim that spot on his jaw. He grunted and his hips bucked under her so that she had to grip his waist with her knees.

And then he was right there with her, straining for her mouth and rolling them over to press his body down into hers. She took his dominating need with a grin of self-possession then gasped as his hands stroked under her shirt and his mouth roamed down to meet them.

She tightened her legs around his waist and reached a hand between them to snag his belt, then she stopped and hooked her fingers in it.

"Castle."

"Mm, you smell exotic," he murmured.

"Castle, you got the flash drive in your belt again, or do I get to take it off you?"

He growled and lifted his head to meet her eyes, that look of a predator darkening his face. "No holds barred, Detective Beckett."

She grinned and lifted up into him, wrapped an arm around his neck as she pushed him onto his back, straddling his thighs again. He grinned and stroked his hands up her legs to her ass, squeezed.

"Then I do this my way, Agent Castle," she murmured, letting her fingers feather at his ribs before she pushed his shirt up.

She lowered her mouth to his chest and licked, heard that delicious, needy whine in the back of his throat.

She had him.

She wished she'd brought her handcuffs.

* * *

The whole bed shook as she laughed into his arm; he could feel her body tense and ripple with it under him.

"Almost ruined your sexy plan, didn't I?" she hummed.

"I'd have taken you anyway," he growled.

She bit him, again, the little minx, right at his bicep, and then she turned her head so that her cheek was pressed against that spot. And even though he was lying over her back, her ass tucked into his hips, he shifted off of her and pulled her back into his chest, her head resting at his bicep now and her hair falling into his mouth.

He stroked it away, carded his fingers in her hair and scratched at her scalp as she practically purred.

"You're too soft to take me," she said with a laugh, her lips tickling his forearm before she bit at him again.

"Ow, what are you doing, Beckett?"

"You taste good."

"Little cannibal," he said, pushing his thigh between hers and tugging her deeper into his arms. They laid on their sides in the bed and he put his mouth to her shoulder and sucked, licking the sweat from her skin.

She shivered and pushed back into him, drew his arms tighter around her body. He pressed his nose to her spine trailed down to that scar on her back until he could puts his lips to it.

Kate sighed and twisted in his arms, pulled him half over her even as she hooked her leg around his and ran her toes up his calf. "Stop dwelling on it," she murmured into his ear.

"It's kind of a big deal, Beckett."

Her fingers were at his waist now, slipping along his scar, over and over like she was praying through a rosary.

He sighed and pressed his thumb to her elbow, skimmed his palm down her forearm to her hand, pulled it away to kiss her palm. "Kate."

"Kind of a big deal, Castle."

Yeah. He got it. He understood.

She curled her fingers around his and kissed the inside of his wrist, then let go to stroke through his hair and grip his ear. "Hey, baby."

He laughed a little at that and leaned in to kiss her, soft and a little desperate and mostly just grateful. She was alive, he was alive, and they were in this together.

Suddenly she broke away from him, her fingers at his jaw, her eyes - delighted?

"We're in Italy," she laughed. "In a loft in Italy. I have Italian hay poking me in my ass."

"That's not hay," he murmured with a smirk.

She lifted her knee between his legs and smirked right back at him. "Better be, Castle. Cause I need something a lot bigger than tiny-"

He smothered the rest of her words with his mouth even as her hands reached for him.

* * *

She smoothed her hands down her knit leggings to make sure they were straight, then tugged her boots on, lacing them up. Castle plucked at the fabric in appreciation, his eyebrow raised, and she lifted her foot to shove on his chest.

He laughed and got back to dressing himself as he sat on the bed, buttoning the thick flannel shirt over the cotton henley. He looked dark and brooding, despite the faint smile, and she slid a boot over his knee and straddled his legs to kiss him.

Castle growled softly, his fingers dappling her jaw, his mouth warm and welcoming under hers. She pulled away after a moment, using her hands against his chest to keep her balance.

"Thank you for planning this," she hummed, nipped at his bottom lip before she stood up again. He watched her from the bed like he she'd cast a spell over him, and she smirked and smoothed her hands down her hips, over her sweater.

"You're beautiful," he murmured.

She waited, but it was just a comment, a truth tumbled from his lips practically without his knowledge. Not even to get her back into bed, just to let her know.

She held her hand out to him, crooking her fingers. He stared at her a moment and then stood up, pressing his palm to hers with a surprised smile. Like he didn't know why he felt the way he did, but he liked it.

"Castle," she said quietly, lifting her lips. "You falling in love with me, super spy?"

"Too late. Already fallen."

* * *

In her calf boots and leggings, the sweater with its sharp v-neck, Kate Beckett looked amazing. Entirely unlike herself and yet - somehow - the deepest part of her on display. He liked the boots.

A lot.

He was having dirty fantasies about her in those boots, not conducive to the mission.

"So what's next, Rick?"

"We have to drop off the flash drive," he said, nudging her in the back of the cab as it sped through Rome. "The Eternal City."

"Two thousand years of history," she murmured, turning her head to look at him. The early sunlight made her cheeks pale and her eyebrows dark. She hadn't put any make-up on this morning, so her eyes were unlined and luminous, and her eyebrows were thin, her lips wide and pink. She looked like a Roman goddess - classic and striking.

Completely unlike herself. No one would recognize her as Detective Beckett.

She really was an awesome spy. Natural as hell.

She peered out of the window of the cab and clutched his knee. "It looks like a fortress. Oh, I love Rome."

He thought she would, she might. She'd mentioned a semester in Kiev and how she'd done some free travel; just those few comments had made him think she'd fallen in love with Rome when she'd been.

"It's Castel Sant'angelo," he noted. The cab pulled up at a taxi stand to let them out onto the cobbled road, the wide and crowded avenue that led to the Mausoleum of Hadrian. "It was used as a fortress at one point. You ever been here?"

"Rome? Yes, but not here specifically."

"We're on the bank of the Tiber River. Formerly a mausoleum, then a fortress and prison for the pope. Everything we need is right here," he added. Couldn't really help it, even though it might be giving it away.

"We're going in?" she sighed, giving him a flickering smile that brushed her lips with warmth.

"We're going in."

* * *

Kate spun slowly inside the interior court, watched the way the massive pillars, the thick walls blurred around her. She felt Castle's hand come to her back to keep her balanced, but she didn't need it.

He'd brought her to a castle. Castle of the Holy Angel. She wondered if he realized.

Montelupo's statue of Saint Michael stood in the middle of the square, the original piece that had once surmounted the Castle but which had been replaced by a bronze statute in 1753. This one dated back to 1536, not even half as old as the massive fortress itself. Her head was filled with history and dates thanks to the museum's redolent information, but there was something about the statue that drew her.

Grey and green and deteriorating, nevertheless, the marble angel was fixed before the sheer edifice of the fortress, standing guard now in front of a series of gated doors and narrow windows of the interior square. Beckett was fascinated by the wings that arched from his back: the curve of strength in the lines of metal, like strips of four individual feathers. Like a mesh of pure determination alone would lift Michael into the leaden sky.

"Tell me the story," she murmured, reaching back for Castle's hand. They were to meet his contact here, in the square in front of the Holy Angel itself, but they were early.

"The story?"

"I saw you reading the plaque. Tell me the story."

She felt him settle in behind her, his body heat combating the chill in the air. "The legend goes that in 590, a terrible plague befell Rome, wiping out whole sections of the city, claiming old and young alike. A bloodied and violent death. Pope Gregory I prayed that God would relent - every night of the plague - _please, Lord, have mercy._"

Kate shivered at the tenor of his voice, the sudden slide of his palm inside her coat and against her skin.

"One day, the Pope received an answer - the plague would not release its hold until the pagan worship of idols had ceased. So he led a procession of holy men to a certain church nearby where the people had started to worship an image. The moment his foot touched the floor, the idol collapsed with a clap of thunder."

Kate leaned her head against his, felt the heat of his mouth at her cheek as his bulk blocked the wind.

"With the idol dispatched, the Pope and his procession traveled back to St. Peter's over the Aelian Bridge - just as we did to get here - and he saw a stunning revelation atop the castle."

She hummed, the shimmering image of this strong and fierce angel in triumph over the top of the castle practically vibrating in front of her eyes.

"The Archangel Michael, wings at rest, wiping the blade of his bloody sword on his white mantle, and then sheathing it - once and for all - as a sign that the end of the plague had come. God had relented."

"Have mercy," she murmured. His fingers slid up the bare skin of her stomach and cool air rushed in after him, making her shiver.

"Have mercy," he repeated and nudged her nose aside to kiss her.

* * *

"This first," he said, pulling the small bag out of his coat pocket.

Kate glanced at it and then turned her head back to the grimacing angel.

"Kate. You have to wear this," he said again, opening the drawstring.

It was her chin that came around first, the strong jaw and beautiful line of her cheeks following. Her eyes were on his, casual and warm, a rich brown in the sunlight, and she gave a little startled laugh as her gaze fell to the ring in his hand.

"What's that?"

"Our cover," he said. "I've found that the only way to go anywhere with you and not attract attention is by attracting a lot of attention."

She was smirking, but there was an uncertain tilt to her lips, her eyes filled with questions. "Oh, really? How does that make sense at all, Castle?"

"We're too obvious, too out there. We can't be spies; we're asking the whole world to look at us."

He slipped his thumb into the ring and snagged her left hand, drew it towards him. She had gone so very still, her lashes dark feathers against her cheeks.

"Kate Beckett-"

"What are you doing?" she murmured.

"It's our cover, sweetheart. Don't look so petrified."

Her mouth gave over a breathless laugh and her eyes lifted to his. No cover, no lie. This was real for him and he could see she knew it. He slid the ring onto her finger, squeezed her knuckle to keep it on, keep her hand.

He'd found the ring at an eccentric jeweler's in Belfast the month after he'd recovered from the knife wound. He'd had to travel to Northern Ireland to round up some of Foley's group and he'd realized that it was the first time back on that soil without regrets and recriminations, and it was because of Kate, because of what he had with her.

It had seemed a sign, a benediction, when he'd stumbled upon the studio with its display. He'd chosen the ring on an impulse, but ever since he'd bought it, the thing had felt more and more right.

Silver and squared off, the ring was inlaid with a round chip of a blue garnet, one of the most expensive and rarest of precious gems. It changed color in the waning of the light. He had pushed it onto her finger now and she was staring at it.

"Rick," she breathed out.

He realized he was still holding onto her, and he lifted his gaze to meet hers. She dropped her eyes back to the ring, no other words leaving her lips.

The smoky grey of the stone glinted in the morning light, but by twilight, it would have shifted between a penetrating purple and a deeper blue. The round cut of the stone inside the square setting made him think of them - two differing shapes fit together so perfectly.

He was getting soft. She made him sentimental.

"What's our cover?" she said faintly, her fingers curling around his hand.

"We're getting married."

"What?"

"Look," he said gently, and he nudged her hip to turn her around. From the gate behind the Angel Michael came the official - a museum official, really, not a priest, but he held the power here anyway.

"Rick," she murmured, her head turning quickly back to him. Beautiful, she was exquisite and lovely and the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

"We're getting married today, Kate. Try to look the part."


	3. Chapter 3

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

The ring was light on her finger. That was what she noticed the most, because she'd always expected it to be so heavy. Her mother's ring was a weight around her neck, but this one was like air.

The stone - now exposed to the midwinter sun - was shifting to a trembling blue from the murky grey it had been when Castle put it on her finger.

She had a ring.

Castle had-

"Kate," he murmured, his mouth at her ear and his body blocking the wind. "We'll need two witnesses to sign the license."

"Witnesses," she mumbled back, blinking at the crowd that had started to form. Much like Versailles, but the officiant had a great big grin on his face, boasting in Italian about the wedding he was to perform._ Guardate questi due piccioncini!_

"You'll pull two from the crowd," Castle was saying. "The first a man, I don't care who. The second is the woman in the white scarf, short dark hair, in her sixties."

Kate let her eyes travel the scene slowly as Castle murmured to her, his voice skittering along her spine and making her warm. And then the woman was in view, a quirk of a smile on her face, and Kate moved her gaze away.

"You see her?"

"Yes."

"Here," he said then, and he was nudging open her fist. She felt the flash drive and curled her fingers around it, her mouth dry. "You pass this off to the woman when you grab her to be a witness."

"Okay," she murmured.

"Smile, love, like I've made you the happiest woman in the world."

She rolled her eyes at that as he pulled away, but still - still - she couldn't help the way her real smile cracked through the edges and beamed at him, silly and proud and excited.

"There it is," he said softly. "How beautiful."

She flushed and put a hand to her cheek, shook her head at him. "I'm not even wearing any make-up. There was no mirror and we were rushed-"

"Beautiful," he insisted.

"I meant," she said, nudging his hip with hers. "That no woman gets married without make-up, Castle."

He grinned wider and wriggled his eyebrows. "Surprise, baby. Looks like you are."

She clutched his belt and tugged in protest, but he was already taking her by the hand and pulling her towards the official. Their palms touched over the flash drive as if in reminder and she let herself blush and scan the crowd like she was surprised and in love and-

Oh, well, she was.

And she could let herself be.

Castle brought her to the base of the Archangel statue, grinning like he'd captured her himself (oh, he _had_) and she tucked in closer to him, biting her bottom lip and nodding to the man acting as their officiant.

She lifted on her toes to press a quick kiss to Castle's jaw, murmuring under her breath, "Is this for real?"

"It is in Rome," he whispered back, a lift of his eyebrow.

And did he assume they'd never be back? Of course they would, and he-

He was marrying her in Rome.

How sneaky.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head and the man was saying something she only caught every other word of.

_Raccolto. . .permesso. . .unire. . .obbligazioni santi-_

Matrimony.

Holy shit, she was marrying Agent Castle.

To pass stolen information to a woman in a white scarf standing not ten feet away from them.

* * *

Castle winked at her before taking out the wedding bands, showed them off to the crowd. They applauded, clearly pleased no matter what he'd pulled out, and then he pushed the masculine ring back into his pocket so he could focus on Kate's.

He'd been right. The only way to do this with her was to attract a lot of attention, show her off, make everyone notice them since so many already would be.

Kate played her part perfectly, her eyes staring lovingly into his, her mouth in that perfect half-smile, blushing when the crowd cheered and urged them on. A little girl had pressed a spring of oleander into Kate's fingers at the start, pulled from an evergreen bush that grew just outside, and now she handed it back to the child so that Castle could take her by the hand.

The girl squealed and oohed over the engagement ring, even reached out to touch it, and then called back to the people around them in excited Italian. _The ring is beautiful and blue and perfect, everyone!_

Castle watched Kate for his cue, waited until she lifted her eyes to his and bit her bottom lip, the perfect young bride, and something real in his chest ached, tender and hopeful.

He rolled the wedding band between his thumb and finger, held it up for her to see - a simple silver circle, thin to slip on and nestle with the engagement ring. She smiled slowly, enchanting and bewitching and bewildering in all that gorgeousness, and he pushed the wedding band onto her finger.

She went up on her toes a little, as if she was so excited, as if she'd been waiting for this moment, and then she snaked her hand into his pocket for the other ring.

He jerked in surprise and the crowd called out in mocking laughter; Kate flirted with them with her tongue pushed to her teeth, her smile so wide and downright devious. She tugged the ring out and held it up for the crowd, repeating his movement, before she slid closer to him and slowly gathered his hand in one of hers.

He felt the edge of the flash drive tucked up under her sweater sleeve, caught by her leather bracelet, and he couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face. She winked at him, saying so much in that look, and then she pushed the ring onto his finger.

They hadn't exactly exchanged vows, though Castle spoke Italian fluently and could have; he'd wanted them to appear like foolish, lovesick Americans - used to getting whatever they wanted and whenever they wanted it. So when the official had paused at the appropriate spots, Castle had just stared dumbly into Kate's eyes.

Now they'd exchanged rings and some of that dumb tourist facade had fallen; Kate pulled his hand up to her mouth and kissed his palm, her smile soft and tender and real.

Real enough.

* * *

Even though the words were boisterous and Beckett had only a flimsy understanding of them, when the museum official gave them the head nod, Castle grinned at her and leaned in for a kiss.

She let herself be bowed backward over his arm as his mouth thoroughly met hers, sealing the deal.

When they parted, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause, _bravo, bellissimo_, and Kate couldn't help grinning at him for that move. They turned and gave little bows to their audience, hand in hand, and the officiant said something about _licenza_ and waved them back.

Castle laughed and gestured to the people around them, which sent up another cheer and an eager crush forward, and she heard him playing to the crowd, something about letting his wife _moglie_ choose, _go on amore_.

She gave a self-conscious little shrug and leaned in to kiss Castle's cheek, let go of his hand to scan the crowd, laughing when the men flirted with her and blew kisses, called out. She demured, tossed Castle a look over her shoulder, then reached out and curled her fingers around the lapel of a man who was quite attractive.

Their impromptu wedding party catcalled and cheered, ribbed Castle as she dragged the man back towards the official. Rick put his hands on his hips and shook his head, a mocking scowl on his face. Kate released the first witness, gestured towards the fancy document in the officiant's hands.

Castle laughed and pretended to take over for her, but she darted towards him with a grin and hooked her arm around his neck, made up to him with kisses. He melted at her touch, all such a wonderful act (he was so damn good at this), and then she slowly backed away from him, heading for the crowd.

When she approached, the response was even more overwhelming and involved than before. The men were slipping up to touch her, actually doing them the favor of making a big production out of it, all with Italian rumbling over her in warm and vibrant noise. Kate made a show of taking her time, smiling seductively at the men, and then Castle growled.

"You better not," he shouted at her.

A few people in the audience apparently were translating, so there was a time delay for some and then an uproar of laughter, teases tossed towards Castle and fresh invitations to Kate. She bit her lip and turned her head to look at him, as if she were debating actually disobeying him, and she saw the first witness elbow Castle in the ribs with a chuckle.

Kate let her shoulders drop and the crowd sighed in sympathetic amusement. She scanned the group again and carefully selected the woman in the white scarf, crooking her finger with a sheepish smile.

The woman seemed flattered and blushed prettily, her dark head dropping, but Kate reached out and grabbed her hands, tugging her forward.

"How's this?" she called to Castle, pulling the woman into their circle even as she pushed the flash drive deep into their contact's palm. Out in the crowd, the translators went to work and there was a roar of approval and maybe also derision, well-meaning and laughable.

"Perfect," Castle called back, and she saw the knowledge in his eyes.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

It took forever to get out of there, what with the crowd acting as well-wishers and family to the married couple. When Kate reached for the flowers, the little girl instead tossed them into a trash can, making a face and saying something that Kate didn't understand. Castle laughed and murmured, _very poisonous._

She laughed and turned back to the girl who was giving her a sheepish and hopeful look, so Kate leaned down and kissed both her cheeks, pushed her on towards her father and brothers. The sun was beginning to burn off the haze and the temperature had risen, warmed Kate's fingers and nose. She reached back and grabbed Castle's hand and they were finally able to lose the crowd.

On the Aelian Bridge once more, the passage to and from Castel Sant'Angelo, Castle laced their fingers together and brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles with a reverence and joy that seared through her.

"Castle?" she murmured.

"That was fun. I've never. . .had fun doing this before."

Her chest eased and she smiled back at him, coming in close to nudge his shoulder with hers. "That was. . .fun. Yeah, actually. It was."

"You sound as surprised as I am."

"A little. _You_ surprised me," she said, wriggling her fingers in his so that the ring flashed.

"Good. Trying to keep you on your toes."

She smirked at him and came closer, their hands bumping her hip and then his, and she jumped a little to kiss his cheek. "Pretty nice back there, Castle."

"Yeah? You liked that?"

"Ever surprise marry me again, I'm gonna hurt you. But yeah, ended up. . .sweet."

He was smiling at her, squeezing her fingers with his own, and he looked like a little boy, so happy to have made her happy, to have surprised her, made it special.

"You did a good job, Kate," he said softly, pleased with her now, proud of her. She could see all of that in his eyes, the electric blue that jolted through her like current.

"Thanks," she murmured back, tugging his hand towards her stomach and guiding him around a slow-moving group of pedestrians.

"Better than good, really. You were. . .extraordinary."

She tugged on him and pulled him out of the flow of foot traffic, slipped her free hand up his chest to his neck. He wasn't even grinning now, just entranced with her and waiting, and she brought him close and kissed him.

She heard a whistle from the people around them, a smattering of applause - probably their crowd from the castle - and she couldn't help laughing a little into his mouth. She could feel him grin back and the press of his fingers into her spine.

"Still extraordinary, Castle?"

He laughed and leaned back, narrowing his eyes at her.

"More than, Kate. You ready for the honeymoon?"

She grinned, a laugh bubbling through. "Where to next, super spy?"

"That's husband to you."

"When in Rome," she sighed.

* * *

It occurred to her on the bus that they'd entered Italy illegally, and that they couldn't go back out any way except the same way. No entry visa meant no exit visa. But Castle hadn't said anything about flying the cargo plane back out.

She narrowed her eyes out the window and brushed her hair back from her face; the heater was blowing it into her mouth.

Castle was asleep beside her, and while he was still giving her their mission in pieces, a few chunks of information at a time, she'd learned that this was always how it went. He received pieces of a much larger puzzle, and he did his job and moved on to the next project. He didn't even know if one job related to the next usually, and while their past week's adventure meant picking up information in one place and dropping it off in another, often the work wasn't that cut and dried.

Half the time the things they'd done together made no sense at all. She didn't like it, this constant state of darkness, but she'd learned to live with it.

Today, though. . .

Today had been fun, like he'd sad. Today had been beautiful at times, and surprising, and he'd made her feel special and wonderful and-

Well, they'd gotten married. Sort of. She had the rings on still, as did he, and even though being surprised by a wedding wasn't high on her list of okay things to do, it'd turned out to be rather endearing. And sweet. And, yes, she'd liked it. She had loved it.

Beckett sighed and turned away from the window only to be met with Castle's unconscious form beside her. His face was smooth in sleep; his mouth relaxed into a natural smile. She'd seen him in bed with her and passed out on her couch, and she'd seen him curled up around her in a hospital bed and a CIA rehab farm, but today he was her Roman husband, the man who had performed and catered to the crowd but had looked at her with such devotion, such love.

She wasn't sure what to do with that, with him.

Other than have him.

* * *

When they disembarked in Tivoli, Castle shrugged his backpack on his shoulders and wished he'd left the coat back in the barn. It was bulky in his bag, and he'd had to push Kate's in as well, but to get where they were going next, they might need them. He didn't exactly know how yet - cargo plane was out. He'd figure it out as they went.

He gazed into the afternoon sun and adjusted the straps of his bag, felt Kate snake her arm through his. She pushed her chin to his shoulder and jostled him.

"Now that I know the plane is coming, Agent, I'll be better prepared."

He turned his head to look at her, dislodging her chin from its perch, and she raised an eyebrow at him and stepped back.

"We _are_ taking the cargo plane, right? You wouldn't be trying to frantically think of a way around it, would you? Castle."

He opened his mouth and then shut it, wordless.

"Because if I thought you were making exceptions for me, for a stupid back spasm that goes away with a simple pill and a good night's sleep. . ."

He waited but she didn't finish her threat. Still, he had an idea of what damage she could do to him when she wanted.

"I thought we'd try - uh, to-"

"Uh-huh."

"We don't have to take the cargo plane. There are other ways out of the country."

"Not many illegal ones. And I guarantee that if you make us ride buses north so that we have to cross over the Alps on foot, I will hurt you. I will be in pain for sure, and I will hurt you, Castle."

"We can charter a private plane. I know a guy."

"No, you don't."

Shit. She called him on it.

"Richard Castle," she said slowly, advancing on him with deadly intent in her eyes. "I am not going to be a liability to you. We do this as partners. That's what we agreed on. So lead us back to that farm before it gets dark so we can get on that damn cargo plane."

"Shit, you make a scary wife," he muttered.

But she didn't laugh.

He ducked his head and pulled out the bus schedule, glanced quickly down the timetable, and then pointed with his finger as if she could read the Italian.

"We have time for an early dinner. Bus leaves in two hours."

She let out a slow breath and nodded. "I want lasagna. Something authentic. Honeymoon starts here, Castle."

She was a goddess in disguise, wasn't she? Brutal and warrior and beautiful and fierce. She'd never let him get away with this.

How long before she realized he was taking it easy on her?

* * *

A honeymoon in Tivoli wasn't what she'd expected - ever, but neither was a man who alternately bullied and ignored her, depending on what he thought she needed. When they'd been together in New York, it was mostly recovery at her apartment. He'd been stabbed and she'd catered to him because it had been her fault; he'd been too grateful and maybe a little too weak to be his usual self, so she hadn't realized how controlling he could get.

And then when he'd gone back to work, he'd come home to her as the man she loved, shedding the spy shell and letting her have the soft interior. When he'd pushed at her mother's case, pushed her to be better, to get sleep and eat dinner and lift her head out of the darkness, it actually had been for her own good. And she'd been too deep in it to realize how much he'd been ordering her around.

Now that they were on equal footing again, she recognized the signs, and she was going to curtail that behavior fast. No more bullying, at least not so dismissively, like she wasn't a rational adult, an independent person with feelings and ideas and opinions of her own.

They were taking the damn cargo plane.

She'd prove to him how good it could be together as equals, as partners in love rather than master and servant, commander and enlisted. She wasn't his foot soldier; she wasn't his _mother-_

Speaking of.

Shit.

Kate checked her father's watch for the date and bit her bottom lip. She'd put that into motion before she knew they'd be leaving (when did she ever know beforehand that they were leaving? he gave her no warning; he had no warning himself). It wasn't like she could stop it from Italy, or Bern, or wherever they might wind up. She wasn't allowed to use her phone - she hadn't even packed it. They had burner phones and she couldn't call Espo or Ryan to have them intercept the woman.

His mother.

It'd been hard enough convincing the woman it was a good idea at all and near impossible to have her commit to a time and place. If they didn't show, Kate was afraid they'd lose their chance for good.

Shit, he was going to _kill_ her when he found out what she'd done.

"Kate?"

She lifted her head from her watch and wriggled her fingers at him, played it off like she'd been staring at her ring. His face transformed, the suffusion of light even in the dim interior of the cafe, and she smiled back, felt the emotion catching at her chest.

He needed to meet his mother, talk to her, discover once and for all the answers to his questions.

But in order to make that meeting, they had to be home in 72 hours.

* * *

"No," he murmured, shaking his head softly.

She paused in the twilight and adjusted the bag over her shoulder, tilted her head at him.

"We can't leave the same way we traveled in. Protocol. No barn tonight. Straight flight." He knew that inherent in his voice was the question, _Can you handle that?_ but he couldn't help it. He didn't think she should, or could, but he knew she would.

"Okay. How far a walk is it from here?" she said, strength and determination in her voice. The bus had dropped them about a quarter mile from the farm where they'd spent the previous night, but they couldn't go back. They'd have to bypass it entirely.

"About five miles."

"No problem," she said with a little shrug. "A mile takes about twenty minutes to walk?"

He shrugged. Faster if he did it alone, but he wasn't pushing her.

She narrowed her eyes. "On average, a brisk pace is fifteen minutes, you asshole. Come on. Don't lie to me."

He sighed and dropped his gaze, scraped his hand at the back of his neck. "Fine. A mile takes me twelve minutes at a brisk pace, but I'm-"

"We're nearly the same height and I've just come off six months of intensive physical training at your own damn CIA facility. Don't do this, Castle."

He swallowed hard and nodded. She was right; he had to stop looking at her as the woman he loved and assess her instead as the woman with matched skills. She could do it; he knew that. He just didn't want her to have to.

"Fine, Kate. Twelve minutes a mile. A faster pace than brisk. No running. If I see you jogging to keep up, it looks suspicious, makes people notice, and I'll have to slack off the pace."

"Of course."

"We'll make it to the airstrip in an hour, give or take. We have a long-standing arrangement with our pilot and he'll be there for only twenty minutes. He set to land in fifty minutes."

She turned a raised eyebrow to him. "Castle. That means we _have_ to make it a twelve minute mile."

He scrubbed his hands down his face. "Yes." He'd hoped to linger over dinner so much that they'd conveniently miss the cargo plane, be forced to make alternative travel plans.

"Fine. Let's go; we're wasting time."

He set off into the afternoon light just ahead of her, but she didn't even scurry to match him. She just followed, slowly eating up the distance until she was at his side. They walked with purpose, not rushing, just making good time.

"Why did you ask how long?" he said after a while, keeping his breath carefully in check so he wouldn't ruin his pace.

"I had to calculate when to take the pain reliever," she muttered. "For the flight."

He sucked in a breath in surprise and glanced over at her. "How long does it take to work? It knocks you out."

"I know it knocks me out," she said carefully.

"How long does it take to work?"

"Twenty minutes. Like last night in the barn."

More like thirty, and for the first twenty she was clumsy and disconnected, and the last ten, she was sluggish and nearly unresponsive but still awake. She could perhaps survive those thirty minutes in the air before the pain pill kicked in, but once they landed in Switzerland, it would be a near thing getting out of the country and on to London. They were crunched for time; the crowd had kept them much later than he expected and the bus schedules didn't line up well with the delay.

He prided himself on his careful planning but if she took a pill-

"You should've told me this," he said. "It's not feasible-"

"It is feasible. I'll take the pill when we get to the airstrip."

"You're out for an hour after you take it. Hour and thirty minutes then, all told. But the flight's fifty minutes."

"I remember," she said grimly.

"Won't work. We don't have time to let you sleep off the last forty. We fly out to London immediately."

"I'll take it while we walk-"

"We have to keep up the twelve minute mile pace."

She grimaced and rubbed her forehead, scraped her hair back from her face. "Then I won't take it, Castle."

He let her pull ahead of him on the road. "Then you can't fucking walk after the damn flight. How does that do us any good?"

"Don't slow down," she growled at him. "Twelve minute mile."

"This doesn't work. This is shit you have to tell me about, or else the plan is shot to hell. Can't be hiding this stuff like it doesn't-"

"You're one to talk, you asshole."

"This affects the mission. You-"

"You never tell me anything until it's too late to know any better. You put us on a bus leaving Tivoli too late to make the rendezvous - you did that on purpose so that we couldn't make that plane because you were doing some damn hero routine. That I don't need, Castle. If you had just told me we had to be there at a certain time, I'd have got us into Tivoli sooner, ditched the damn crowd at the fucking fake wedding, or just _eaten faster_ at dinner. Simple solutions. So stop yelling at me, and figure out how to make this _work._"

He glared at her in the golden light, but she was right, and he was pissed as hell.

His mind churned over, idea after idea, and finally he growled at her. "Take the damn pill on the fifth mile. We'll make it work."

She wouldn't turn to look at him and he ignored her for the rest of the walk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

Beckett somehow walked faster than him, and she didn't know if he was doing it on purpose, slowing down, or if she truly was faster, but she pushed them to nearly a ten minute mile that first one, and then slacked off when the terrain got harsh. By the time she took the pill at the fifth mile, their average had been twelve for all five, but she was still furious.

More than furious, she was heartbroken and it was all his damn fault. Keeping her in the dark the whole way, giving her bits and pieces of knowledge, making it almost impossible for her to help or assist him or actually be a member of his team. She was a fucking sidekick, a buddy along for the free hotels and the European vacation, and that was not what she'd signed up for.

Gone was that sweet and tender feeling towards the man who'd put a ring on her finger. In its place was this seething resentment for the way he'd minimalized her abilities and her training, relegating her to a place she could never accept.

They didn't work if they were unequal. They were bad for each other like this. He was overbearing and insufferable and he was often _wrong_, and she didn't know how to make him understand that just because she fell apart when it came to her mother's case, she wasn't that woman at everything else.

She was better than that; she thought she'd proven herself.

Maybe he'd never see her clearly. Maybe his vision of her would forever be stained by her obsession and her brokenness. Maybe the woman who'd been unable to wash her own damn hair, the woman who'd cried every time she woke in the night in pain those first few days - maybe that was the Kate he saw when he looked at her.

Maybe all he wanted was someone to fix.

But that couldn't be her.

* * *

She was too quiet. He was afraid.

She got into these loops, these jacked-up circles of thought that fed off each other until she'd reached some crazy conclusion and nothing he could do or say would break her from it. He had to break the chain now, before she was set, or he'd lose her to whatever bad messages were going around in her head right now.

"I should've told you," he started. "But I was trying to be romantic."

She said nothing.

"I was - I wanted you to feel like it was all a big mystery, a special thing for you alone to figure out. Each leg of the trip, expose you to some new piece of the work I do. Of me. I'm sorry. It didn't go exactly like I planned."

She let out a long breath.

"I know you miss the 12th. I know this isn't what you wanted to be doing." He cleared his throat and decided to let it all out. "I saw your face when our contact in Versailles was murdered. You want to be doing _that_. Not this."

She sighed.

He kept going, couldn't stop now. "I know. But everything I do is part of a wider plan; it's all chess moves on a board too large for me to even see. Kate, the work of a spy is largely a mystery, and I'll never know what my actions have caused - who I've saved, who I might have condemned."

"Doesn't that make you crazy?"

"It didn't use to."

She huffed a breath. "It does now?"

"Because I see it differently. I see it the way you see it, because of you. But I can still let go of that irritation with not knowing why, not having the answers. My training, the years I've been doing this. It wasn't that I was trying to keep you in the dark because I think you can't handle it-"

"Coulda fooled me."

"I was doing it to prove a point. To show you what it's like out here. And to maybe let you know me. Know. . .everything."

"And changing plans mid-trip to keep us from making our flight on the cargo plane was. . ."

"Not the smartest move, in hindsight. I didn't want you to be in pain."

"Life is pain, Castle."

"I used to think that too," he sighed. "And then there was you."

She stumbled to a stop beside him, her hand coming to his forearm in a grip that he could already tell was looser than she'd intended. The pain pill was kicking in.

"Castle."

He shrugged it off. "It's the truth. And I guess I was just trying to give you some of that. Make it - fun. Memorable. Make up for not being where you really want to be."

"Here," she croaked out, shaking her head at him. Her eyes were glistening but she wasn't crying. "I want to be here. Doing this. I miss it, the homicides and the investigation and my team. I do. I won't say I don't. But this is where I want to be right now. With you. Doing this."

And he believed her. He did. Even if a small part of him wondered if she only wanted to be here because she knew that for every mission they did overseas, it meant they were allowed another clean-up project in New York, another step closer to taking down Bracken.

If he finally murdered the man, would she let it go?

Would she let him have her?

* * *

On the cargo flight to Switzerland, he couldn't help reaching across and tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, cupping the back of her head and holding on.

For dear life.

She was asleep, she wouldn't wake up for another hour at least, and he felt like they'd never been further apart.

He loved her. He ached with love for her.

But they were so tangled up in all this crooked mess, both of them damaged. He didn't know how to fight past it, didn't know what form the beast might take the next time.

She'd kissed him when they'd ducked inside the plane; she had cradled his face and whispered _I loved my wedding_ and then she'd kissed him slowly, loosely, her eyes already drooping shut.

He wanted it to be enough. He wanted it to be real.

She wasn't the cover; she was the only true thing.

* * *

Castle joked with the ticketing agent in Bern that Beckett always needed dramamine on these long flights, even as Kate listed into him and struggled to keep herself upright. She felt sick to her stomach at the interrupted sleep; it always did that to her, but at least she could still move. At least her back wasn't knotted in pain.

When they were settled in their seats, Kate finally turned into him and closed her eyes, certain that he'd keep watch until she could recover. His large palm came to her ear, fingers stroking in her hair, and then she was out.

* * *

"You missed the stop in Paris to refuel," he murmured.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched in the seat; she caught him looking and gave him a narrow-eyed glare for it. But her heart wasn't in it, and he grinned back.

The back of his fingers came to her cheek, a swift stroke, and then he was unbuckling his seat belt as well and standing up as the plane door was opened.

She sat there a moment, watching him reach in the overhead compartment for their bags, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his coat, the solid bulk of him in the aisle. He took up so much room, filled up so much space. A domination of maleness, pushed into her vision and her breath and her existence, a force. When he was here, she couldn't not notice him, have him, exist with him.

He demanded her attention, unconsciously and without any pretense or self-regard. He just _was._

"Beckett. Come on."

She shook her head clear of him, stood up to move into the aisle. He had her shoulder bag in one hand, holding it out for her, and she took it, slung it over her head. He was smiling at her, the soft one that came rather without his noticing it. Like he didn't mean to smile so much, but he couldn't help himself.

It was her smile, the one for her. And he couldn't control it.

How did she even know that? Had they been so long together, in such close proximity and in such tight quarters, than now she knew his _smiles_?

How ridiculous. To know someone like this. To not be able to move without that awareness of him. If he wasn't here, if she was alone on this flight, she'd live. She'd be fine. But she didn't want to just be fine.

She wanted his crowding into her back as they moved down the aisle and out the door; she wanted the nudge of his knee between hers when he came up behind her at the sink. She wanted the fingers gripping the back of her neck when he drew her in, the look in his eyes when he caught her smiling at him, the near-constant invasion of her personal space.

She would learn to live with the other parts - the bullying and witholding. Or she'd break him of those. Might be more fun that way.

"What're you looking so smug about?" he muttered, nudging her shoulder as he came up at her side.

She turned her eyes to his, let him see her knowing smile. "Wishing I'd brought handcuffs. Teach you a lesson, Castle."

He forgot how to walk. She had to actually come back for him, hook her arm through his, and tug him down the concourse.

"Keep up, baby," she murmured, and she slipped her fingers down against his inside wrist, fluttering against his skin until he swallowed hard.

"You're gonna kill me, Beckett."

"Come on. Badass super spy like yourself? You won't even break a sweat."

* * *

"Agent Castle, thank you for agreeing to help," the man said, shaking hands with both of them as they entered his office. "I'm Colin Hunt."

"Inspector Hunt," Castle said formally. Scotland Yard's modern headquarters in Victoria, London, weren't usually on his tour, but he was surprised by the degree of clutter and confusion within its halls. "This is Detective Beckett of the NYPD."

"Yes, you'd mentioned you were bringing a colleague. I appreciate having international help." Hunt gave Beckett a long look with a spark in his eye that Castle didn't like. "Especially from New York's finest."

The way he said finest left no doubt he was referring to more than Beckett's professional assets. Castle cleared his throat and resisted the urge to step closer to her; she'd flay him alive for it. And after their fight on the road in Italy, he wasn't up for another round of desolation when she looked at him like he was a beast.

"Inspector Hunt," Beckett said, offering her hand to shake and the winsome beauty of her eyes. Castle grit his teeth and locked his knees in an effort to remind himself to be still.

"Hunt, what do you have for us?"

"It's a state dinner here in London between the prime minister and the visiting dignitary from Dubai. MI-5 has security, of course, but local police is in charge of a few extra matters."

"Extra matters," Castle restated, not liking the sound of this. He'd purposefully chosen this jaunt to London because a goodwill trip to Scotland Yard kept the wheels greased and the lines of communication open. But _extra matters_ sounded like an issue MI-5 hadn't deemed a threat.

"I've got a London street gang resurfacing suddenly in the past six months. They haven't been around since before World War II and yet their resurgence has been so dramatic that we're having trouble keeping up."

"And what does a street gang have to do with a state dinner?" Beckett asked. Castle gave her a side glance and saw the active interest in her eyes, that flame of mystery and investigation.

She missed being a cop. He'd known it, he'd planned for it - thus their goodwill mission to London's Scotland Yard - but maybe he'd underestimated her need for it. To put a close under her belt once more, to lock up a bastard where he belonged.

"Here's the thing. This old time gang - Elephant and Castle Mob-"

"What?" she gasped, and Beckett's eyes shot to Castle's in a rush of startled awareness.

"Elephant and Castle gang - led by the McDonald brothers from 1910 until roughly 1930. The McDonald brothers are back, or at least their monikers are. And just like before, they've dominated the race courses and taken over the West End. And same as before, they've got a enforcement squad of all women called the Forty Elephants."

Castle noticed that Beckett was too stunned to keep up, so he settled down against Hunt's desk and probed a little further.

"Still, race courses and mob bosses aren't the kind of thing the CIA-"

"I know. Let me finish my story. A few days ago, our esteemed dignitary from Dubai let us know that he had some dealings with a few loan sharks after he'd acquired gambling debts."

"You're kidding," Castle groaned. Gambling debts. Of course. "And so you've heard that the enforcement squad is going to gate crash your state dinner, come looking for him?"

Hunt gave a smirking shrug and shook his head. "Just about."

"And what are we supposed to do?"

"In the interests of national security, we can't allow for the man from Dubai to fall into the hands of the London mob."

"Guess not," Beckett supplied. He saw she was pressing her lips together in that way she had when she didn't think it was appropriate to smile. "You want us there for protection?"

"You provide a good cover - should anything happen. We can say that Downing Street was working hand in hand with our American allies to recover some international fugitives-"

"Wait. Are they international fugitives?" Castle interjected.

"They certainly should be," Hunt sighed. "ECM has branched out to illegal gambling in Los Angeles and Dubai. In fact, it's possible that this gang originated in either of those cities and adopted the old gang's style and name when they came overseas."

"So what you're asking. . ." Beckett said slowly, but she turned to Castle with those eyes, her interest and her sense of intrigue sharpened by the idea. "Is for Castle and I to attend a state dinner and keep a watchful eye over the man from Dubai?"

"Essentially," Hunt said, and even though Beckett missed it, Castle could see the dazzling smile he was offering her. "So that leaves us with one question."

Kate turned away from Castle too look at Hunt in question, and now she had to see the charm oozing from the inspector's pores. "Yes, Inspector Hunt?"

"May I have the first dance?"

* * *

Kate ran her fingers through the dresses on display even as Castle followed and made encouraging noises. She figured he probably thought he was being good, not dictating her wardrobe for this evening, but his grunts of approval or sighs of pleasure weren't exactly _subtle._

For a spy, Rick Castle was awfully terrible at subtle.

At least when it came to her.

"You do know why that's so strange, right?" she said again, tugging him away from a too-tight, too-short red dress that she was never going to wear to a state dinner. Never.

"His asking you for the first dance? Yeah, it's-"

"Castle," she sighed, nudging him with her elbow. "Shut up about it, will you?"

"No. Clearly you and I are together, and _still_ he blatantly-"

"If you don't let that go, I'm going to hurt you."

"But you're going to dance with him _first_ and I think I deserve the chance to moan about it for as long as-"

She turned and gripped him by the lapels of his jacket, glared at him. "But I dance with you _last_, you big bully. So shut up."

A pleased little smile suffused his face and she saw he tried to hide it - he really did - but it kind of overwhelmed him.

"Besides that," she said, pushing him away from her with the flat of her hands against his chest. "We're still married on this trip. Or do you want your rings back, Castle?"

"Those stay on while Hunt is. . .hunting."

She snorted at the terrible pun and moved away from him to keep looking at dresses. She waited until she heard him follow - not long at all - and then she picked up the thread of her conversation again.

"Did you get why it was so weird - the name of the gang?"

He laughed and slipped his hand around hers, fingers meshing, and she could feel the cool silver of his wedding band against her warm skin. He hadn't taken his off either.

"Castle, yeah, I got it," he said. "Seemed-"

"More than that," she said, feeling again that same strange breathlessness. "It's like Bonnie and Clyde."

"How do you figure?"

"It's us, Castle."

"You're not an _elephant_," he blurted out, his hand squeezing almost painfully around hers. "You're - oh. Oh, I see. An elephant. Wow."

She hummed and glanced over her shoulder at him. "They're all over my bedroom. I couldn't imagine you'd missed them. And you've seen my desk at work-"

"You have a thing for elephants, yes. I remember that now. It didn't strike me while Hunt was briefing us."

She smirked and reached for a dress of deep jade, held it up. Castle tsked even as he blanked his face noncommittally. She inspected it closer and saw the unflattering ruching at the hips, realized it'd be okay on her - she looked good in most everything - but it wasn't perfect.

And it'd been so long since she felt strong and attractive - and not just to Castle, who found her dirty hair and weakened state infinitely appealing, the neanderthal - but really healthy and in control and able to use her looks and her appearance to bring them to their knees.

Anyone. Not because she wanted someone else, but just that sense of power. . .

So she put the jade dress back and kept looking.

"So. . .you gonna explain your thing for elephants, Beckett, or what?"

Kate laughed and looked back at him, poor Castle, trying to be so good and keep his opinions to himself, trying to help, but he always wanted her attention, always claimed her.

"I'll tell you the story about the elephants if you keep your opinions to yourself. Which means no clucking, no grumping, no frowning. Got it?"

He winced and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, then sighed. "Fine. But this story better be good - sexy even. 'Cause it'll take a lot to distract me. Some of these dresses are hideous."

"It's only a normal story," she said, poking his chest. "You'll just have to learn how to behave."

"Without handcuffs?" he remarked innocently, but his eyes were wicked.

"I'll let you in the changing room with me when I try them on," she conceded, raising an eyebrow.

His grin was wolfish, his body suddenly crowding close. "Deal, Detective."

* * *

Castle skimmed his fingers up the swell of her hip and touched her elbow. Standing before him in the dressing room mirror, Kate met his eyes and shivered.

He dragged his touch across the circumference of her arm and drifted up to her shoulder, light and electric. Her skin was cool and soft, and soon he had her erupting in goose bumps. She hummed when he got to her neck and he brushed his thumb at her spine, loving the baby fine hairs at her nape.

"You like this one," she murmured. He lifted his eyes to hers in the mirror and saw the dark arousal swimming there, a trapped and drowning thing. Hopeless, the way she wanted him. Hopeless, the way he felt for her.

"You said not to comment," he whispered back, nudging closer so that he could slide his arm around her waist.

"This is the only dress that's caused such a. . .stir," she said finally, arching an eyebrow like she was so calm, so in control. But he could see the quiver in her body and feel the mad thump of her pulse under his fingers.

"No words were audibly spoken. I can't help if my body language gives me away."

"Well, then you make for piss poor spy, Agent Castle."

He chuckled and nosed closer, let his mouth touch the exposed length of her spine, the vee in the back that made her look svelte and dangerous. A place to touch, a need to touch-

"Oh, yes, this is the one," she murmured and then he realized his knee had slipped between hers and she was nearly straddling his thigh. The heat of her burned him like a brand, like a claim of ownership, and he was glad for it.

"You like that," he said back, shifting his knee a little higher. The skirt tightened and restricted his movement, but he had just enough room. Just enough.

"You know I do," she muttered back, and then her whole body leaned back against his chest. His arm tightened at her waist and his mouth went to her neck, pressing a kiss to the skin he could find.

"When he dances with you-"

"Let it _go_-"

"He'll touch," he finished, the growl in his throat unable to be helped. "He'll touch skin but when _I _dance with you - last - I'll reclaim it all, Beckett. I'll make it all mine again."

She turned so suddenly than the skirt flared around her thighs and he felt the rustling of the material against him. And then she was pushing her mouth to his and taking a kiss from him, a deep and insistent intrusion of her tongue, drawing his out and doing some claiming of her own.

She bit on his bottom lip and suckled the wound; he could actually taste blood. "It's not yours to have. But see if you can't anyway."

He pushed her up against the wall and set about proving her wrong. She was his.

* * *

Straps and silk, the serene and cool strength of deep ocean blue, the dress tucked in low at her hips and left most of her back bare. The straps looked like silver cuffs studded with diamonds and sapphires as they clasped the front and back material in loose drapes.

Like it could fall off her body at any moment. Like the flare of her hips were the only things keeping it up.

Castle stepped into their hotel room at Astors Hotel in Victoria, London, and he stopped in the doorway, his eyes glued to her figure.

Kate pressed her lips together in a secret smile and turned to the mirror, smoothing her hands down the straight line of her stomach and brushing off her thighs. Before she could even twist to see her profile, Castle was at her back, his fingers slipping beneath the material at her lower spine and skimming the top of her ass.

"Castle," she murmured in warning.

"Gorgeous," he said. "Kate. Wow."

She bit her bottom lip at the gutted honesty in his voice - not just his arousal or his tenderness, but the actual stunned appreciation. His wordlessness. She felt the nudge of his knee between hers, and instead, she turned around to press her fingers to his tuxedo jacket. Silk lapels open over his white, starched shirt. His bowtie was hanging loose around his neck, a little askew, and she reached up to grasp either end.

He grinned a little at her and she tugged him down to meet her mouth, pressing her kiss deep into his, their noses crushed together as she took him in.

Hot fingers burned the bare skin at her back and she arched into his body, the flash of want pure and intense.

She realized she was still clutching the ends of his black silk tie when he pushed his fingers into her fists and dislodged her. She stumbled back on her heels and stared at him, couldn't knock the stunned need off her face even though he looked smug as hell.

She cleared her throat. "Looking pretty gorgeous yourself, Castle."

He grinned and hooked his arm around her waist, tugged her against his hips.

"What a pair we make," he murmured, and even though the tease was in his voice, there was a serious set to his eyes that made her stomach flip.

She wriggled her fingers against his shoulder and the ring caught the light. The stone was a deep blue that matched her dress, but even as she stared at it, the gem glinted and shone bright and sky like his eyes.

And she never wanted to give it back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

Agent Castle brought Kate into the ballroom on his arm, and he honestly didn't even care that Colin Hunt of Scotland Yard had the first dance.

Not too much anyway.

When they walked down the grand staircase towards the marble floor below, she made a stir. The men turned to openly admire, and the women appraised under their lashes. Kate was regal, equal to the state dinner, and she kept a light hand on his forearm as they moved towards the prime minister's receiving line.

The dignitary from Dubai was first, with his wife and grown daughter, plus a teenaged son who looked bored until Kate showed up. The dignitary gave a wide smile as well. Castle shared a glance with her and she was subtle about it, but he could tell she'd understood that this man was their target.

When Kate addressed the dignitary with the offering of peace, Castle noticed that the man's wife had disapproval stamped into the tight lines of her forehead. Her own dress was almost a business suit, so modest were its lines, and Castle knew that the customs of Dubai were quite conservative.

Kate's dress was making an impression.

"Your Excellency," he murmured over the dignitary's hand. The man nodded back, but his eyes were on Kate still.

Interesting.

Gambling and other problems as well? A disapproving wife. A son who clearly held his father with little or no respect. The grown daughter seemed cool and calm, giving Castle a downturned glance and a view of the top of her head before lifting her eyes to him steadily. More to her than just her mother's tight control then.

Next were the prime minister and his wife. The man's praise of Kate was warm and polite, a genuineness to it that made Castle proud, like he had anything at all to do with the beautiful woman at his side. He shook hands with the wife first, and then he moved on to the prime minister with a respectful nod, and then finally Kate was pulling him deeper into the ballroom.

They'd made it through the receiving line.

"Mm, champagne," she murmured, and he felt her tug on his sleeve as she left him to chase after the waiter. When she came back, she was smiling that closed-lip smile and she handed him a tulip-shaped glass. He grinned back and lifted his; they clinked in cheers and she took a healthy swallow that had him chuckling.

"You nervous, Beckett?"

"No," she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Actually I'm excited."

He grinned back at her and leaned in, wanting to taste the champagne on her tongue, along those soft, warm lips, but before he could close the distance, a voice came from over his shoulder.

"Care to dance, Kate?"

He jerked back to find Colin Hunt standing with his hands behind his back in a tux that looked tailor-made for him and a smirk that made Castle want to wipe it from his face.

Brutally.

Instead, he inclined his head towards Kate and let her go.

She handed him her flute and wriggled her fingers with a little smile. "Don't wait up, Rick."

* * *

He wasn't sure what happened next really. He'd been watching both Beckett dancing with Hunt and also the Dubai dignitary from the corner of his eye, when suddenly Hunt was pressed close to Kate and whispering something in her ear.

Suddenly, Colin was dragging Kate across the floor in something more suited to the tango, angry and sexual and intense. Kate's fingers were wrapped around Hunt's neck, a grip that looked both passionate and possessive, and Hunt squeezed her thigh, hiked her leg up to his waist, and pushed her back along the floor.

Castle jerked forward to go after them, but he stuttered to a stop on the edge of the dance floor, heart pounding, the blood thick and rushing in his head. The dignitary was on the other side and he was supposed to be keeping a protective watch over him, but _Kate_-

He took a breath and cut his eyes away from their dance, put his focus back on the Dubai diplomat, watched the man and his wife doing a perfectly acceptable waltz, if a little stunted and awkward, and yes, there was the teenager, skulking to one side and the perfectly normal daughter, dancing with what looked like her own bodyguard.

Fuck. Kate and Hunt. What the hell? This was supposed to be a three-man protective detail, and instead, Inspector Colin Hunt was feeling up his _wife_-

Not actually his wife.

But their _cover_-

And now Hunt was kissing her neck, Kate's head back, their bodies so close that nothing could exist between them, her bare knee sliding through the slit in her dress as her heel skimmed across the floor.

Castle turned suddenly and pushed to the back of the room, slammed the two glasses of champagne onto the waiter's bussing table, and stalked back towards the dance floor.

Colin Hunt was a dead man.

And then he'd teach Beckett a lesson about teasing.

Now they'd moved across the floor and had tangoed quite close to the man from Dubai. Castle strode forward, intending to end it, spectacularly if need be, when Hunt spun Kate around.

She flowed outward in a movement both elegant and forceful, and Castle saw it.

Castle could see exactly what their game was.

Shit.

Hunt was having her _pickpocket_ the man from Dubai's blackberry.

Fuck. This was not okay.

Castle cleanly interrupted her spin, bringing Beckett up hard against his chest, and he didn't take his eyes off her when he said, "I'm cutting in."

Hunt made a noise behind him, releasing Kate's hand apparently, because then she was smirking up into his face and curling her fingers at his neck.

Instead of gripping him, she stroked at the hair on his nape, and then he felt her slide the blackberry into his inside jacket pocket, deft and nimble.

"Not a good idea, Kate Beckett."

"What?" she whispered. "Making you jealous or taking his phone?"

He growled and punished her with a long, heated kiss.

* * *

When Castle turned her towards the back of the room, Hunt was standing there with his eyes like thunder. Quickly, Kate slid her fingers back into Castle's pocket and removed the phone, a movement Castle wouldn't have felt if he hadn't seen it coming.

She passed it to Hunt, but Castle snagged her wrist, the three of them in a tight knot on the dance floor. He knew that to outsiders it would only look like a confrontation over the right to dance with Kate, so he pulled her tighter against him, possessive and caveman, and growled at Hunt.

"Bad idea," he said in a low voice. "You called us in as a protective detail. Not as information gatherers."

"As spies, you mean?" Hunt murmured back, wrapping his fingers around Kate's elbow like he might pull her from Castle's embrace. "What's the matter, Agent? Afraid to let your girlfriend out to play?"

He jerked forward, but Beckett smoothly slid between them. "You have fifteen minutes, Hunt. And then I come for the phone and I put it back in that pocket. Fifteen minutes."

Castle didn't like that idea at all, but Hunt was pulling the phone from Kate's fingers and slipping it into his own pocket. He released Beckett and gave Castle a bow in resignation, then he disappeared off the dance floor.

Strangely enough, a few men danced closer to pat Castle on the back in congratulations, _good work, old sport_, and then Beckett was chuckling into his neck as he tried to pull her off the floor.

"That was dangerous," he muttered. He had his arm around her waist and he wouldn't let go, clung to her as he navigated a path through the dancers. "You're not to take direction from competing agencies, Beckett."

"He wanted to check and see if the gang had gotten in touch with him."

"Among other things."

"I'm sure," she said with a shrug. "What do I care what information he steals from the man's phone?"

"Hunt is protected here, his home turf, whereas _you_ are not," he growled. "And I didn't like the way he was touching you."

Kate turned on him at the back of the room, her eyes flashing. "I know what you're doing, Castle. Going on these easy little runs to Italy or Versailles like that's all you ever do-"

"It is a lot of what I do."

She glared at him and he shut up, let her talk.

"You've been treating me with kid gloves, doing milkruns and information drops that are boring you as well - even though it was your idea that you bring me in on this." She patted his chest as if in consolation, started to turn away from him and back to the dance floor. "So don't be surprised when I branch out, Castle."

He grabbed her by the upper arm and turned her back around to him. "You're bored?" he growled out. "You want some excitement, Beckett? You don't need to branch out for that. Not to him, not to anyone but me."

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to rebuke him, call him on it, whatever. He didn't care. He forced a kiss over her lips, pushed his tongue inside to claim her once more. She bit at his lip and surged into him, battling back.

He squeezed her thigh where Hunt's hand had been, nipped at her in reminder.

"This is mine. Not his. You're my partner."

She choked out something against his mouth but her fingers were burrowing into his jacket and seeking the heat of him, rucking up his shirt from his pants and trying to get closer.

"Beckett," he groaned, broke from her mouth long enough to spy a cluster of exotic potted plants, most of them over his head, and grouped aesthetically in one of the natural alcoves made by the set of floor to ceiling windows. "Here, back here."

She shivered and her skin rippled at her back; he realized his hand was already dipping beneath the material of her dress and skimming her ass, squeezing, and there were still people around. Most of the guests were turned towards the ballroom floor, but he quickly shoved Kate into the close darkness of the alcove, a dim light spilling in between the plants at his back.

Kate worked at his mouth, pulling grunts from him as she sucked on his tongue. He slid his knee between her legs and leaned her against the wall, felt the heat of her burning down to skin.

"What about the man from Dubai?" she gasped, arching hard into his thigh and rocking.

He groaned and pressed a kiss into her neck, her jaw, trying to keep from biting her where it would show, and finally lifted his head to look at her. Disheveled, wanting, her head thrown back against the wall.

"We have fifteen minutes." He devoured the amazing, beautiful column of her throat and sucked lightly at her collarbone.

"What if - what if he looks for his phone before then?"

He lifted his head and saw her panting, her eyes closed tightly. "Better keep your eyes open then," he said gruffly.

She snapped open those brown, drowning pools, and he groaned at the look of her.

"Got it," she murmured. "Eyes open."

He gave up trying to get at her from the open back of the dress and instead drew his other hand down her thigh, started slipping under the cool, silky fabric.

She gasped when her legs were exposed to the air and bit at his earlobe, her breath hot and heavy. "No one better see us, you brute."

"Your eyes still open, Beckett, or are they rolling back?" he murmured, licking at her neck and pushing his nose into her chest. He breathed in deep and she bucked against him with a tight, anguished moan.

"Fuck. Castle. Eyes. . .eyes are open."

"Better stay that way."

And then he set about showing her a little _excitement_.

* * *

"What about you?" she murmured, the haze beginning to clear rapidly from her mind.

"Our fifteen minutes are up," he growled, smirking.

Shit, he just-

And she'd _let _him. She'd encouraged him; she'd demanded he'd finish what he started and now, how in the hell were they supposed to slip out from behind these jungle plants like nothing had happened?

He was shoving on her back to get her moving, but she turned quickly to rebuke him for getting the best of her, for bullying his way past her defenses and making her _want_ him. But when she saw his face, the smudged lines of his mouth, she felt the blush start hard in her cheeks and burn.

So she gripped him by the back of the neck and erased all the smug satisfaction from that stern, smirking mouth.

* * *

Kate tangled her fingers in his and led him out from the alcove, a little surprised to see that most of the crowd was clustered by the dance floor and moving towards the tables for dinner. She flinched when she felt Castle's fingers lingering at the bare skin of her back then smoothing down her dress.

They met Hunt at the edge of the crowd; he tried to slip her the blackberry, but Castle intercepted it with a glare that looked only marginally less black than it had before that little interlude.

"I'll put it back, not her."

She flashed him a frustrated look but she saw the steel at the back of his eyes, that deadly intent. And she knew he was right - she had no protection here if she was caught pickpocketing a dignitary at a state dinner.

"Come on, Beckett," he said quietly. "Hunt, I trust we won't be seeing you again?"

"What about the protection detail?" Kate said, frowning over at Hunt when he didn't even try to stop Castle. "The man from Dubai is-"

"He made it up," Castle grunted.

Hunt winced and Kate felt the truth of it strike her; she set her jaw and dropped Castle's hand. "Made it up."

"Wanted our help in lifting this damn phone. For whatever reason-"

"It's not entirely made up. He is in deep with the Castle and Elephant gang, and Scotland Yard has almost no information on them. They're phantoms. We think they originated in Dubai, and we need the proof."

"And the phone has it?" Kate said, lifting an eyebrow. She felt Castle's heat at her back, knew he was impatient to have this night finished, to get back to the hotel where they could be alone.

"It might lead us to what we're looking for."

"Beckett, stay here," Castle interrupted suddenly. "I've found an opportunity."

"No," she said quickly, turning her head to him. "I'm done with this. I'll get my wrap and look for a cab."

Castle lifted an eyebrow, but he nodded and moved off into the crowd. At her side, Hunt made an apologetic noise.

"I'll call a car for you, Detective," he said. He didn't try to apologize, nor did he try to take her hand.

Kate walked out alone.

* * *

When he left the ballroom and exited down the stairs to the street, a valet nodded towards a black limosuine parked at the curb. Castle followed him to the car, allowed the man to open the door for him, and then he slid inside the warm interior.

Kate was sitting rigidly in the seat, her body pressed nearly to the door, but she turned her head to him when he got in. He waited for the car to glide out into traffic before he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, pulled her over to him.

She came reluctantly it seemed, but when he didn't let up, she slid a knee over his thigh and straddled his hips, rising up over him with a serious and intent set to her eyes.

"Kate," he murmured, question in her name.

She stroked her fingers at his jaw and scraped her thumb over the scar at his chin. He felt the whorls of her prints catching on his skin.

"Kate, don't worry about it," he said, letting his hands rest on her hips, on that cool, lovely fabric that trasmitted the heat of her skin right to his palms.

"I thought someone was finally taking me seriously," she muttered. Even though she seemed to be beyond frustrated, she was still stroking the back of her fingers at his jaw, curling around his ear. He heard the rush of ocean noise as her palm settled, felt the trickling relief of her nails at his scalp.

"I take you seriously," he said. "You're very serious to me."

She tilted her head like she sometimes couldn't understand him, and then she set about torturing him, one long, slow tease that had him grunting into her mouth and entirely forgetting what it was she'd said about being taken seriously.

He'd take her any way he could get her.

* * *

Castle pulled her hips to his as they came in through the front doors of the hotel, huddled at her back like he couldn't stand not to be touching her. But she knew he was using her more like a shield, could feel him, restless and wanting her.

In the elevator, she started to work on the buttons, flicking her nails at his skin when she reached it. His stomach muscles quivered and his hands smoothed obsessively over her silk-clad hips.

So she left the dress on, made him stand there and take it while she slowly pulled the tails of his shirt from his pants and peeled it off his back. His black tie she kept wrapped around her hand as she worked at his pants.

She stepped out of her high heels, slid her panties off under the dress as he got out of his clothes. She couldn't resist trailing her fingers over his bare shoulder and down his arm. He pulled her against him, grunted at the slide of her dress between their bodies, and she nudged him towards the bed.

When she settled over him, her dress billowed out and made a pretty scene around him, ocean blue bringing out his eyes. He slipped his hands under the material and squeezed her thighs, tugged her up his chest in a slow slide that made her heart pound.

She still had his tie wrapped around her palm and she found his hand at her hip, brought it out from under her dress to lace their fingers together.

And then she tied their wrists flush, felt the erratic and hard-beating pulse of his blood against hers, the two drumming, insistent and needy.

His eyes were nearly black, and he tugged her forward to meet his mouth.

* * *

He woke to the cool slip of her dress coming off, the low humming in her throat as she settled back down. He watched the blue silk puddle on the floor and then he turned over and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She stroked his forearm with her fingers and her body pushed back into his. He struggled to stay awake long enough to say something, to reassure her about the state dinner or Hunt or her worth to him, but his mouth was slow and all that came out was a grunt of exhaustion.

It was Kate who pulled the covers up over them, and Kate who managed to turn off the bedside lamp, and Kate who smelled so wonderful and felt so good and traced aimless patterns on his arm until he fell asleep.

* * *

Castle jerked to attention in the dead of night, heart racing. A dream. He knew it, couldn't remember it exactly, but the taste of it was still in his mouth, the feel of it in his fingers.

He slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom, restless with it. After, he washed his hands and dried them on the towel all in the darkness, concentrated on the night noises of the hotel. The room was sound-proofed rather well, but he could still sense the movement of people on duty, the occasional insomniac roaming the halls.

He turned back to the room and saw Kate curled on her stomach, a knee pulled up, her hair in a mess around her face. He could spot the rise of her shoulder under the covers and he joined her with some small amount of relief.

He didn't try to grab her - she'd wake - but he did slide his hand across the bed and stroke his fingers over the scar at her back. It wasn't smooth, and he didn't know why. The ragged edge of the wound seemed to act like a speedbump, keeping his fingers from going much farther.

Castle leaned in and pressed his mouth to that scarred tissue, settled his forehead to her shoulder blade with a sigh.

What had she said about someone taking her seriously?

He didn't understand what that meant. And it was dark and her body was warm and he wasn't sure he had the mental capacity right now to wonder.

Castle flattened his palm to her back and breathed out slowly, let the rhythm of her sleep draw him after her.

* * *

It was only when Kate ran her fingers through her hair under the shower spray that she realized she hadn't taken off the rings. She pulled her hand down to look at it, saw the stone had turned a vivid purple in the lights of the bathroom.

When she was ten years old, her mother had given in and bought her a mood ring from a department store downtown. Kate had cupped it in her hands and breathed hotly over it, watching it shift colors from orange to deep blue. Most often it had been green, a kind of sickly color she hated, and eventually she stopped wearing it.

Madison had one as well, but Madison's ring was always this beautiful purple, and Kate had known even at ten that she'd stopped wearing hers because she'd been jealous of Mad's.

The blue garnet on her finger wasn't a mood ring, was in fact a thousand times nicer than that, but it gave her that same sense of expectancy. Like she might look down and at any moment be pleasantly surprised. It was as if wonder was just a look away.

Stupid. But nonetheless.

Suddenly the shower door opened and cold air spilled through, followed by Castle's long, ropy body. She stepped back to allow him room, grinning at him in the steam and warm light. He looked predatory and aware of her, and she hummed when his hands found her hair and stroked along her scalp, bringing her whole body in close.

He still had his ring on as well.

* * *

Kate lifted her arms over her head in a stretch, felt the sinews of her body unfurl and release, his eyes on her in the bathroom mirror. She was dressed finally, despite Castle's insistent and invasive help, but she let him run his fingers through her hair as she dropped her arms back down.

It felt good to have her shoulder be so strong, so capable again. Even after their workout in the shower this morning, and that awkward angle last night with their hands tied together, she wasn't hurting. It'd been a long time since she hadn't hurt.

She felt Castle gathering her hair back, and then his lips came to her neck in a sweet kiss. He was always so gentle and tender when he'd had her, so willing to be molded and so happy to let her take control. A rare thing, seeing him easy and malleable. She loved this side of him, wanted it more.

She lifted her hand and palmed his cheek, scratched her fingers at the rough cut of his stubble. He was humming now, crowding closer in his slacks and dress shirt and tie, so crisp. He hadn't shaved yet, but she kind of wanted him to not.

"Hey, super spy," she murmured, turning in his arms and pulling her hair free of his fingers. He smiled at her and canted into her kiss, lips warm and so soft, a shivery contrast to the scrape of his scruff.

She loved this man. She loved him. If it was like this all the time, she'd never wonder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

In the cab on the way to the airport, Beckett was leaning into him and touching him, her hands everywhere like she needed to groom him. A brush of her palm at the lapel of his coat, the back of her fingers to his jaw, and then in his hair a little scratch of her nails. Over his knee a squeeze, along his elbow the attention of her touch, and then a soft smile that warmed him even in the winter cold.

She was tending to him. He'd never seen her do it quite like this before. A few times when he'd recovered at her father's cabin, a few times when she'd been in the hospital. But not like this.

Maybe he'd never needed it before now? The reassurance of her touch. He wondered if he'd let out too much of his pathetic need last night, too much of the darkness and the twisted bent of his life. Too much craving, too much of his worship of her.

Oh well. What could he do it about? He needed her; he was messed up alone and she'd made him into something better. A man of integrity. Because there was a difference between having principles and having rules. She'd known he was capable of more, and she'd shown him the way forward.

Castle circled her elbow with his fingers and slid them down to the inside of her wrist, took her hand in a soft, supplicating gesture. She flexed her fingers and then stroked them over the skin she could reach, fiddling with the ring he still wore.

Around and around, over and over.

Her touch was hypnotic and suggestive and calming, all at the same time.

And he realized - they were on their honeymoon.

* * *

Kate sat beside Rick at their departure gate, his body cramped into a narrow seat so that he hunched forward a little, his shoulder brushing hers every time he moved. She glanced up from her magazine again to study him, but he didn't seem to be too put out.

He lifted his gaze and met her eyes, gave her a flash of a smile. She released her magazine to reach over and squeeze his bicep, smooth the starched shirt over the lines of his arm.

"Hey," she murmured. "Only an hour before we board."

"Yeah." His grin came crooked on his face, eyes a little bright. She found herself wanting to curl up in him, have his arms around her, and at the same time, she wanted him flat on his back under her and holding on for dear life.

Whew. She was going to combust. Who knew how much the soft, tender side of Castle would turn her on? She didn't think of herself as a domineering person, although she knew what she wanted and wasn't shy about asking for it. But maybe it was that Castle was always in control, always demanding and commanding, and when he could be relaxed with her, when he could give up the spy image, it was like she got to witness the real man, the soul of him.

She let go of his bicep and closed the magazine on her lap, slid it into her messenger bag even though she hadn't really paid any attention to it. Castle suddenly got that little boy look on his face again, proud and shy, and he reached down to his backpack at his feet and unzipped the front pocket.

"Hey, I wrote you something," he murmured.

She lifted an eyebrow and waited, took her own detective's notebook from his hands when he offered it. She hadn't realized he'd carried it around with him.

"What'd you write for me?" she asked, stroking her fingers over the leather.

"Just a letter, another letter. But there are maybe three of them now."

Three letters. She lifted her chin and quirked her lips at him. "That's a lot."

He shrugged, but she could actually see that ribbon of anxiety curl through him. It was almost like Richard Castle was an entirely different man this morning. Like he was more himself and less CIA training.

"Can I read it now?" she asked, mindful of how delicate and vulnerable a thing this was between them. Not their relationship, but the writing he did, his letters.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "You can read them. I want you to now."

"You didn't before?" she remarked, lifting an eyebrow.

He shrugged again, and she knew then that it was _scary_ for him. He was afraid of what she'd think, afraid of the power of those words over both of them.

She leaned in against his shoulder and curled close, an arm hooked through his, and then she opened the leather cover of her notebook.

* * *

_To The Extraordinary KB,_

_That's a strange word. Extra. Ordinary. But you're not more ordinary than everyone else. It means you're somehow above the ordinary - superordinary. Which, again, sounds bad. Super Ordinary Woman, Defender of the Universe, Bringing Justice to Allllll..._

_I'm having trouble starting this one. You asked for letters, and then I completely froze and didn't know what to say and I haven't written any but I've tried. I really have, Kate. I sit at the desk in my office or I wake in the middle of the night in Istanbul with you sleeping beside me and I get out this notebook and I just. . ._

_There are too many words. It's not for lack of words, Kate. It's because there's so much to say, so many things that crowd my head and push at the pen and want out. How lovely you are in the Turkish moonlight, how walking with you in the Topkapi Palace among the ruins makes me want to build you a palace of your own._

_Maybe only with words. I'm good with my hands, but not quite that good._

_(Yes, I'm smirking. Yes, I'm picturing you naked. Oh, I could write you some smutty stuff, Kate Beckett.)_

Kate laughed and looked up at him, closing the notebook on his filthy, sexy mind. Castle was grinning at her, but he shrugged and tried to play it off, like it was nothing, like it was just a thought he had and not also intimacy on paper.

He wasn't looking for grammar mistakes or suggestions about his use of figurative language; he wanted to communicate something of himself to her, and he'd done it first instinctively, but then she'd wanted it to be purposeful. She had asked him to be intentional about every word he revealed of himself, and now here it was, laid out for her.

The gate agent called their flight and asked for their section to board. Kate opened her mouth to say something, then sighed and shook her head.

"I'll read the rest on the plane," she murmured, and then she leaned in and kissed him softly. "It's beautiful, Castle."

* * *

He watched her fingers skim over the words as she read, the smile that played around her lips sometimes only to be replaced by that serious and heart-stopping awe. It stunned him, seeing how much she devoured his words, how thrilled she was when she opened the notebook. She even mouthed the words sometimes as she puzzled over his cramped handwriting.

He knew she loved to read; she always had a book with her. Sitting at their gate this morning, she'd complained about having read everything she'd brought with her and now she was forced to flip through a magazine. He'd been thinking about getting her some kind of device - ereader or ipad - so that she'd never run out of books.

For Christmas. Which was a month away. Nearly upon them. She'd been anxious about getting back in time for Ryan's wedding as well, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to all the. . .tradition and celebration that came with Christmas.

He'd never _had_ a real Christmas, exactly. His mother - his memories of her were hazy and tinged with a pitiful anger that made him want to pound a punching bag for a few hours - but his mother hadn't given him real Christmas memories. And of course, his father had done nothing to indicate the day was different from any other day.

Which was why he'd given her the ring now. Christmas held too much heft and weight to it, too much meaning. He'd attend Kevin Ryan's wedding with her and then he'd figure out a way to make Christmas special for them, but hopefully not such a big deal.

He just wasn't sure how to do that.

He was putting it off. Not Christmas but her. Kate. He was putting off looking at her again, seeing her reaction to what he'd written. He wasn't sure he could take it.

But he finally turned his thoughts away from Christmas and back on the woman in the seat beside him.

She was crying.

Shit.

* * *

Kate laughed and swiped at the tears, shook off his thunderstuck look and the hands that immediately reached for her.

"I'm fine," she said, although he looked like he didn't believe her. "Really. I'm fine."

He hunched his shoulders and turned his body towards her like he was blocking her from view, protecting her dignity. Sweet man.

"Kate, you're _crying_."

She got the last of the wetness from below her eyes, wiped her fingers on her pants. "I know. Really. It's just. . ." She sighed when the reality of it swamped her again, sent her swimming in it. "You made me a palace of words, Castle."

He startled back, his mouth dropping open, and she spread her fingers carefully over the notebook, studying the unlined pages now filled with all the things he'd wanted to her to know. His handwriting was cramped and small, quick, like he hadn't had a whole lot of time and he'd had a whole lot to say.

"I - you're crying because of what I said?"

"And how," she murmured, shrugging her shoulders at him. "How you said it. You're very good at this, Castle."

"What? Making you cry?"

He looked so bewildered that she couldn't even laugh at him; she just reached out stroked the side of his face, leaned in to give him a soft, thankful kiss.

His tension eased when she did, as if he could finally believe her when she said she was fine. Kate sighed and patted his shoulder, drifted back to her own seat.

"You're good at this," she said, holding up the notebook. "Makes me. . .feel things."

He laughed at that, clearly delighted - either by her crappy word choice or by the fact that she'd admitted to _feeling_ at all.

"Makes you feel things, huh? It's not smut, Beckett. Though I thought about it."

"Shut up," she muttered. "I hate you."

But his grin was so wide that it made her heart turn over, like an engine finally catching after repeated attempts to start it. Who'd have ever thought that Rick Castle had the key?

Or at least knew how to hot wire.

* * *

He wasn't sure how she'd managed to fall asleep like that, her feet pulled up into the seat and her head tucked down in her arms propped on her knees. Complicated. Adorable.

Castle teased the edge of the notebook from her lap - which was pressed up against her chest and made a tight trap. It took forever because he was sure he'd wake her, and he just wanted to make one last note, one sentence; he'd had the idea about five seconds after she'd said it made her feel things, and he wanted her to feel this.

If only she'd relax, loosen up a little-

Ah. There it was. He caught the notebook as it tumbled towards him, and then he brought it close, dwarfed in his hand. Her father had gotten it for her when she'd made detective, and he remembered Kate saying that she had almost never used it because she'd needed a lot more space - she liked to take notes.

It'd served him well because the small pages weren't as daunting as the clean, wide-open space of a regular notebook. And the lack of lines meant he could write crookedly or too small or start it in the middle of the page and not feel like he was cheating her words.

Castle opened the notebook and tried not to read the things he'd written previously. He'd done that the first few times - compulsively re-read his letters only to hate them on sight and tear them up. That was why it had taken so long to start, because every time he'd written her a letter, he'd made the mistake of reading it.

When he found the next blank page, smooth and alluring, Castle pressed his palm to it for a moment, gathering up his courage.

He'd never been so afraid in his life.

He glanced at the woman sleeping beside him, the shadows touching her face and the huddle of her body.

She deserved this. He had to.

Castle pulled out his pen and wrote.

* * *

She woke because she had to pee, startling and urgent, so Beckett climbed over his legs as best she could, but of course there was no way he could sleep through that.

"Kate?" he grunted.

She soothed the spot where she'd accidentally elbowed him, happened to be quite close to his crotch. He hissed and grabbed her hand.

"Sorry, I have to go to the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

"No," he drawled, blinking wide in the dim light of the plane. "You'll wake me crawling back over - trying to feel me up, or permanently maim me. I'm on to you, Beckett."

"If I'd meant to do it, I'd have done it harder," she laughed, but she couldn't stop to talk. She contorted her body out into the aisle and made her way back to the bathrooms even as she heard him chuckling.

In the cramped space, turbulence nearly got the best of her, but she clutched the handhold and laughed nervously, shaking her head to wake herself up. She washed her hands and gingerly poked the paper towel into the foul-smelling receptacle, and then she eased out of the bathroom wondering if the first class bathrooms smelled better. Had to.

Maybe some day. Not like a spy really traveled first class, though. _We're approaching a fiscal cliff, Kate_, he'd told her.

She came back from the bathroom in fits and starts, walking against the buck of the floor as turbulence shook the plane. When she got to their row, Castle released his seat belt to stand and let her pass, but the plane dropped and so did Beckett.

Castle caught her before she could get him, laughing softly at her as she tried to straighten up again. "Nearly took out the family jewels, Beckett. Again."

"Wouldn't want that," she huffed back, ignoring his help and climbing over him again. When she was back in the seat, she scraped her hair back from her face and blew out a breath.

"Definitely not. I got plans for you."

"And you promised me cute, klutzy kids," she shot back, smirking when his startled face snapped to meet hers.

"You. What. I-"

She grinned and leaned in to kiss his lips only to be interrupted by the overhead public address.

_This is your Captain speaking. We're experiencing some turbulence. We request that all passengers keep their seat belts on for their own safety. Thank you._

Kate hummed in disappointment and pulled away to put her seat belt on. But Castle caught her by the neck and tugged her in again, kissed her hard enough to bruise.

"I would love to have your klutzy kids. But I might have to start wearing a cup."

* * *

He was having this strange, warped dream in which his son kept stowing away in Castle's luggage and popping up in strange locales. First it was Istanbul, where Castle was bound to a chair in a dank warehouse, listening to the rats come for him as he bled all over the floor, and then there was his boy, not more than five and looking like a street urchin, slipping in through the bars over the window and dropping to the floor with a wicked grin. He was cutting the duct tape and picking the lock on the cuffs with practiced ease, setting his father free.

Shit. He _knew_ he was dreaming, but it was so vivid. And it felt right in a way it shouldn't, not at all.

Next, Ireland, where the boy scampered up his shoulders to reach a window, crawled inside, stole the flash drive, and climbed back down to his father's waiting arms.

Then it was a stop in London, a confusing jumble of images that made him think the boy was named Oliver, but probably it was his dream escaping off into the detours of his mind, since the kid held up his little wooden cup and asked for more.

Finally, Castle woke with a jerk as the plane touched down at JFK, a shout of warning on his lips as he did.

Kate turned to him with her head tilted, a funny look on her face. "Who's James?"

James.

He choked on the answer, wouldn't let it out.

_Our son._

And then he realized that Kate had been flipping back through the notebook while he slept, rereading his letters, and she was nearly at the end.

Where he'd just written down the scariest, truest words he'd ever had.

* * *

Kate shrugged at him when he just stared at her, figuring the person he'd been yelling for was lost to the dreamworld. James? The plane was still rumbling down the landing strip, and she flipped the page on her notebook, turned her eyes back to the letter he'd written.

She loved this one too. The previous one - the palace of words he'd built for her - had somewhat eclipsed the power of this letter, but she read it again and skimmed her fingers over it. Just a short story about his trip to that Marrakesh souk he'd once told her about. The woman with the stall of mint and pickles treating his wound with all the wrong things. It resonated with her still, and she loved-

"Kate."

She glanced up at the garbled note to his voice, saw Castle staring at her, his mouth open but nothing else coming out. He ran a hand down his face and groaned.

She glanced back down at the notebook in sudden insight, quickly flipped through the pages until she came to the last of it.

But now there was more. He'd added a letter while she'd slept.

She read it eagerly, her body warm with the idea of him scratching this out while he watched her sleep - as she knew he did, and often - words coming to him just at the sight of her. Like they had last month in Istanbul, apparently.

But as she read, her heart stuttered and froze, her fingers gripped the book.

She jerked her head up to look at him.

"Castle," she whispered.

And then she had to read it again.

_I never want this to end. You are the most remarkable, maddening, challenging, frustrating person I've ever met and you inspire me to do greater things than I ever thought possible. To be more than I am. To live a wider life, to love beyond my imaginings._

_I need this to be real, Kate. Don't take the ring off when we get home. Don't ever take it off._

* * *

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to have read it _now_, stuck on a damn plane as it rolled up to the gate at JFK.

But it was what it was.

And he wouldn't take it back.

"Kate Beckett," he scraped out. "Kate, will you marry me?"

* * *

She pressed a hand to her mouth, stared at him.

He watched her evenly, nothing in his eyes, nothing at all, and then she realized the ring was already on her finger, it was already there and he'd bought it for her.

For real.

She lowered her hand and let him see the cracked smile trembling through.

"Yes."

* * *

Wow.

The relief was so great that he swayed forward into her, crushing her in an embrace that had to be brutal, but he couldn't help it at all.

It came to him then that there was applause, like there had been that day in Rome, a scattering of applause from the passengers on the plane, and he finally pulled back to find Kate blushing, that sweet and shy smile still lingering on her lips.

"I think you're supposed to kiss me," she murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Though the hug was nice."

He choked on a laugh and reached for her, fisting his hand in her hair and dragging her to his mouth for a deep, invasive kiss. She grunted into his aggression and battled back, nipped his bottom lip and stroked her tongue hard against his, her hands fisting in his shirt.

Now there were whistles mixed into the polite applause and he grinned against her mouth.

He'd never be able to go anywhere with her without making a scene.

And he was looking forward to it.

* * *

Their fellow passengers seemed to celebrate by staying at their seats and congratulating them as she and Castle came down the aisle alone. He'd taken her hand when they stepped out to disembark, their fingers lacing together, and when she'd taken a quick look at the ring, the stone was a brilliant and sunny blue.

The pilot had apparently gotten the news and he shook their hands as they moved out the cabin door and onto the jetway, the flight attendants calling out their well-wishes as they walked down. The passengers were just behind them, and Castle led the way towards the gate with that commanding stride and alluring presence that practically dominated the very air.

She was going to marry him.

What a terrible, wonderful idea. How beautiful he looked when he was happy. She'd never seen him quite like this - settled and at peace. Even when they were in bed, he had that aura of attentive awareness, like he expected danger and couldn't shut himself off.

But not now.

His hair had lightened at the temples, a rich brown that highlighted the pure blue of his eyes. He stepped off the jetway and into the airport, turning to her as if to make sure she'd followed, and she squeezed his hand in reminder and reassurance.

He grinned and his smile was crooked, sloppy, too happy for his lips to contain. She rose up on her toes to kiss that little boy in him, then sank back to her heels to watch him practically wriggle with pleasure.

What kind of man would he have been if his mother had never left him to the likes of his father? If she'd kept him.

They wouldn't be here now, though. She'd never have met him; she'd have been drowning in her mother's case and never found the hand to pull her up, never have known the exhilarating, maddening, heartbreaking, beautiful existence he'd created around her. For her. Because she'd needed dry land and he'd loved her enough to build it. Like his palace of words.

"Castle," she said suddenly, drawing him closer and letting the traffic flow around them. Standing stupidly in the middle of the concourse and cradling his arm to her chest, she was flooded with the urgency of this, of how short life was, how easily she might have missed him, and never had this.

"Kate?"

"I love you," she blurted out, laughed a little when she heard herself. She shook her head and tried again. "I _love_ you. And it's kind of amazing, and scary, and I'm - I hope you feel half as. . .as. . ." She sighed and couldn't find the words she wanted, needed.

He unfurled his fingers from her hand to stroke her stomach through her shirt, his eyes filled up with things she didn't have words for either.

"I feel it, Kate. If I make you feel like you make me feel. . ."

She relaxed, brought the back of his hand to her lips to kiss.

He understood. He didn't always, often he didn't at all, but when he did - he got the things that mattered most.


	7. Chapter 7

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

When they came down the stairs into baggage claim, Kate moved for the wide bank of doors where the taxis were waiting, but Castle snagged her by the elbow and made her turn back.

She lifted an eyebrow even as she twisted her arm in his grasp and caught his hand instead; they'd been pulled apart in the flow of people moving through the concourse and getting onto the crowded train. But she had him now.

He grinned and nodded his head back towards the baggage offices. "I sent something on ahead."

"You what?" she laughed.

"I marked it as lost luggage in the airport in Rome."

"We were never _in_ the airport in Rome."

"I was - before. When I did recon work on the site."

"Oh," she murmured. "When I was still-" She made a gesture with her hand that Castle took to encompass the whole _shot in the back_ thing. "In recovery."

"When you were doing the training, actually." She'd spent an entirely too short two weeks at Langley undergoing an intensive course training. He didn't think it was near enough, but she'd go back and get another four weeks later. He wasn't looking forward to that either, but she kept insisting on it.

"So what did you get?" she murmured. "And how did it get here?"

"Since it got redirected in Rome - or so the airline thinks - it gets sent on to its original destination. The origin barcode on the sticker tags, you know? I just printed one out saying it was supposed to go here. But now I've got to go claim it."

She was shaking her head at him and he grinned back.

"What?" he said. "These are the tricks of the trade."

"I guess so."

"It's not like I can buy you presents and send them directly here. That's dangerous, Beckett."

Her lips quirked at the corner. "You bought me a present?"

He nodded. "A wedding present."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go get it, super spy."

* * *

Beckett saw the man before he saw her.

Maybe it was spending so much time with Castle on the job, the way he checked his surroundings obsessively, counted the people on the street, routinely scanned the crowds.

Maybe she just had an internal alarm that was tripped whenever he showed up.

But Agent Black was lurking at the edge of the baggage claim, evidently searching for his son.

Or, no.

Searching for her.

Of course he was.

His eyes landed on her and he came smoothly forward, the crowd seeming to part before him like some sinister Moses. She stood her ground, proud that she was at least prepared to face him; every other time he'd confronted her, she'd been caught off guard.

And naked.

And wounded.

Either physically, the gunshot, or emotionally, Castle stabbed and unconscious in her arms.

But not today.

Black's eyes perused her slowly, as they always did, and then his twisted smile flickered to life. "Did he give you the ring finally, or are you still playing at this?"

She couldn't answer that without sounding childish or defensive, so she said nothing.

But he seemed to know it anyway. "Well, well. You've really hooked your claws in him."

"It's a mutual thing," she said, barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. If anyone was hooked, it was Beckett. Castle had abducted her from the side of the road, and he hadn't let go since.

Black made a disappointed sound in his throat and positioned himself to stand beside her, like they were two unknown travelers. She wished that were the case.

"You do know he can never be what you need. When the fucking gets stale, you'll want things from him that he can't give."

Her nostrils flared but she crossed her arms in front of her instead and kept her eyes firmly on the office where Castle had disappeared inside.

"Even now, it's not mutual," Black continued, his voice calm but tinted with disdain. "You think this is a mutual thing? With the kind of life he leads? He's taken you on a world tour only, sweetheart. You've done nothing but see the sights."

The tight fist in her chest wouldn't ease. She'd - wondered. She'd suspected it, had even called him out on him, hadn't she? That he was taking it easy on her, arranging innocuous things to do in the beautiful places of the world rather than really letting her partner him.

She'd never really _been_ a partner to him. And he would never let her. She-

"No," she scraped out, shaking her head clear of him. "You don't get to to do this to me. Not today." She pressed her thumb to the band of the engagement ring, bent her finger so she could rub the stone.

It would be cloudy and grey, she knew.

"Do what to you?" Black said lightly. "Tell you the truth? Prepare you for the time when he remembers who he is and finally leaves you?"

"It doesn't work on me anymore," she said quietly, turning her body to confront him. "You can say anything you like. I know I'm often a fucked up person, and I know how dark it is for him as well. But together we manage to make it _good_. And I won't let you take that from either of us."

"Pretty words," he murmured back, so quiet, so deadly that she nearly didn't hear them at all. "But words are nothing against the history of his life. You think you're the first? That there haven't been others?"

"I don't care," she said simply. "Nothing matters but him."

And then her eyes caught on Castle, the dark cloud of his face as he moved through the crowd for her, his eyes taking in the sight of his father next to her. He moved slowly because he was carrying a massive package (_oh, wouldn't he love that, a massive package_), but even though it was laborious, it was inevitably and dangerously forward.

She smiled at him to let him know - _I'm fine, I love you_ - and then she turned back to his father.

"We're in-laws, you and I. But we will never be family."

And she strode forward to meet Castle in the middle.

He might need help with that massive package.

* * *

God, help.

He wanted to kill the bastard. He wanted to physically get his hands on his father's throat and dig his fingers into that vulnerable skin until he was clawing the blood from him and ripping open his jugular-

"Rick," she murmured. All of it in her eyes. Hurt and fear and anger and love and mercy. So much mercy. He wasn't able to do that. He couldn't move past the flood of grief-filled rage that pushed and pulsed hotly in his chest.

"Kate," he scraped out.

She had her fingers around his wrist, was tugging him away, and his legs obeyed even as everything in his chest screamed.

"I'm okay. It's fine. Let's go home."

"Kate." Because no other word would come, nothing; he was dry as the desert and the mirage shimmering in front of him depicted the detailed evisceration he could perform in under thirty seconds right here in this airport.

"Please, baby." She was pressed into his side and he realized he was unconsciously pushing them both towards Black, to get at the man before he could disappear into the crowd, but Kate was resisting him, and hard.

"Kate. Kate, he-"

"I want to go home. I need to go home. I want to open my present and fall in bed with you and celebrate getting engaged or married or whatever this is. Can we do that? Castle. Please."

"Of course," he grit out, an automatic agreement that came whenever she pleaded with him. His blood tasted thick and sour in his mouth, his arms were laden down with the thing he'd bought her in Rome weeks before they'd ever gone, and he wanted only to shelter her, make himself into a living shield so it would never, it would never never-

"Don't," she said in warning, her grip tightening on his wrist. "Are you crying? Come on. It's not that bad. I promise. I'll tell you what he said, but it's nothing I can't handle."

Fuck. Was he crying? No. But a near thing.

He felt slow and weighed down; he wanted to do damage but all that was left to him was tactical retreat.

"Come home with me," she said again, her other hand stroking over his bicep like she was petting him. "I want to go home."

He followed because he didn't know what else to do.

His whole being was at war.

* * *

He'd waited until they got through her apartment door and he'd put the box down on her coffee table. She hadn't spoken a word of what his father had said to her, what had put that terrible ache in her eyes, and even though she'd tried distracting him - her fingers stroking, her body close, her mouth skimming his jaw - he couldn't stop thinking about it.

About cutting open his father's guts and ripping them out with his fist, squeezing. Squeezing. He wanted to crush the murderous, manipulating life out of him.

"Castle, stop. I want you to stop."

He jerked his head up, his eyes tracked to her, and instead of all that soft and soothing Kate, there was Beckett. The warrior.

His heart flipped and caught.

She pushed him onto the couch and pressed her fingers into his forehead to keep him there, moving past him to sit on the coffee table. "No more."

"Kate-"

"I said no more. You need to calm down. You're not responsible for him, and I am an adult. A grown woman. You think I haven't heard this before, Castle? I interrogate lowlifes and scum and depraved psychotics _regularly._"

He sucked in a hard breath, felt the beat of his heart start up again.

"I've been spit on, punched, body slammed into a wall. I've seen a degenerate fondle himself the moment I walked into the interrogation room. And far fucking worse. Your father doesn't even begin to compete."

He blinked and bowed his head into his hands, took gulping breaths. He didn't like that either, at all, none of it, but when he'd first met her - that'd been one of the things that drew him like a moth. How hard she was, take no prisoners, intense and demanding and brave.

"And Castle?"

He lifted his head, swallowed hard at the steel in her eyes.

"We're not going to keep doing this. Do you hear me? This macho-spy bullshit. Shielding me at your own expense and hovering over me and twisting yourself up inside when I hurt. This is our life; we both chose it long before we knew each other."

He nodded but he wanted to unmake a lot of choices when it came to this new thing with her. He wanted to not be this - twisted up inside, just like she'd said.

She rose suddenly from the coffee table before him and put her knee into the couch at his hip, did the same with the other one so that she was straddling his thighs. Her hands lowered to his shoulders and she sank down over his lap.

"Rick," she murmured, her hot breath skirting his jaw. His eyes slammed shut and he pressed his fingers into her hips.

"Yes," he said when he realized she was waiting on him.

"In our own room, our own bed, I want us to make love. Do you understand me? No handcuffs. No hood. No anger, no grief, no guilt. Can you do that?"

He nodded wordlessly, wrapping his arms slowly around her waist and tugging her closer.

"I want it slow," she said lazily. "I want to take my time with you."

He shuddered and squeezed her thighs, cleared his throat but still had no words.

Her mouth came to his ear with a soft kiss. "And when we're both warm and satisfied, when we're clean of it, all of it, I want to come back out here and open a bottle of wine with you, celebrate, and then get at your package."

He sucked in a breath and let it out. Found he could smile and nudge his nose against hers.

"I think you can get at my package anytime you want, Kate Beckett."

She hummed a laugh into his ear, easy and light, and rocked her hips into his. "Take me to bed."

Yes. Oh, yes. She was right. And he'd never had anyone so relentlessly good for him.

He stood up with her wrapped around him and carried her to bed.

* * *

She was lying on top of him now, and he ran his fingers up and down her spine, around her shoulder blades, down her arms and back. Ceaseless, warm, loving.

She knew that now. He was possessive and uncut and hard to tame, but this was how he loved. The only way he knew. She imagined him as a boy, trying to figure out how he was supposed to act, what was okay behavior, where he was allowed to go. He'd cobbled together a rich inner life that - until now - had no outlet, no expression or form.

But now he had this - their relationship - and so of course it looked strange and heavy-handed at times. Of course he had to touch and claim and put everything in order, arrange them and her and their togetherness to his exact specifications. He had never held on to anything of his own before.

She could bear with him on this. She could. She'd not be as patient as she ought to be, but she could allow him the small things, like having her body draped over him and his hands unable to stop roaming.

Perhaps now was the time.

Kate curled her arms up into her chest, stroked her fingers at his pec, shifting her hips as they started to ache. Her legs were tangled with his in the sheets, but he'd grabbed a blanket and had pulled it up over them, so she was warm enough.

"He said we wouldn't last," she finally began. "He said it wasn't real, that you weren't this man and you'd remember your true self and you'd be gone."

She felt the catch in his lungs, and his hands stopped at her shoulders, tightened. But before he could defend himself or grow angry again, she pressed a kiss to his sternum and kept going.

"But you are this man," she reassured him. She didn't need it for herself; she already knew. "I know the man you are and I'm not afraid. Maybe I was at one time, and I don't know when it happened, but this is real. This is probably the most real thing in my life."

His arms wrapped tightly around her and his palm came to her neck, cradling her head against his chest so that she couldn't look at him even if she wanted to.

She didn't. She needed not to look at him while she said this.

"But I do want us to be partners, Castle. Not just professionally. In our marriage as well." She could feel her heart picking up now, her palms sweating at just the idea of marriage with him. "But for that to happen, we have to be partners in all things."

He cleared his throat and his fingers curled in her hair, gripping. "I know. I'm - I know."

"If that means I have to report to your father for mission briefings, fine. I can do that. If it means more time training at Langley, I'll do that too. Even though I'll miss you," she added softly.

"I know," he said again, but his words were ragged.

"I understand there's a line we walk - being together and also working together. I don't want anything to happen to you either, so in some ways, I've let it go - not doing real work out in the field, dropping messages and meeting contacts. When the man in Versailles was killed in front of us, I saw your face, Castle."

"Scared the shit out of me," he admitted. "Never supposed to happen. Not just doing small stuff like that."

"You're trying to keep me safe, and I - I don't like that, but I do understand. I was kind of relieved because it meant you were safe too."

He let out a breath that sounded like a strangled laugh, maybe. She rubbed at his skin under her fingers and turned her head so she could press her lips to the inside of his wrist. He stroked her ear and let go of her neck, like he'd just realized what he was doing.

She lifted up to look at him.

His eyes were closed.

"Castle."

"I'm here."

She smiled at that, but she had to get back on track. "I need to do a worthwhile job if I can't be a detective right now. Something that brings justice, something that is right and good - not the shadows and greys of dropping off information or slow dancing with a Scotland Yard inspector."

"I don't want you to slow dance with him, either," he muttered.

She pressed her fingertips into his chest, hard, and he opened his eyes, finally looked at her.

"That was a joke," he sighed. "Sort of."

"Something worthwhile, Castle. I'm not made to waltz around the world."

"It was the tango."

"I hate you," she laughed, unable to keep serious when he kept pouting. "Come on, you know what I mean."

Castle shifted to prop his head up on his bent knuckles; his other hand came to her back and soothed - lightly this time, not so demanding or possessive.

"I know what you mean," he said finally. "You do need more training, that was part of why I kept it easy. But mostly it was me."

She watched him wrestle with it, knew he'd get where they needed to be.

"All right. I can - we'll step up our activity, do less globetrotting and more real work. Might have to start off in some nasty places-"

"After Ryan's wedding."

He chuckled at her. "After the wedding. Fine."

She smiled at him and pushed her knees into his thighs so she could lift up and kiss him. Slowly. He was smiling into it as well. Good. She wanted him to be good about it.

"You will go back to the NYPD, Kate. I promise you that. It might seem that we're not getting anywhere on Bracken, but Black really is doing everything he can-"

"I know. He wants me out of his organization, Castle. He's going to do everything in his power to nail Bracken. At least there's that."

He didn't smile, but she knew he'd seen it too. "Kate. What else did he say?"

"Nothing."

He let his hand drift to her ass, nudged his hips up into hers. "Not nothing."

She battled back her reaction, tried to focus. "Really nothing."

"Kate. Partners, love." He craned his neck and feathered a kiss at her temple that made her shiver.

"Really. More of the same. I hold you back. Which is true - I know I do. But as you said, that's also partly your fault." She tilted her head to look at him, saw the grin crack wide over his face. His hand at her back dipped low, teasing, and she grunted and couldn't help the urge of her body into his.

"You don't hold me back, Kate. I do what I want."

"Well, that's for damn sure," she laughed. "Now stop teasing and let's go open my wedding present. I wanna know what it is."

"Wedding or engagement?"

"My proposal to you didn't count? Is that what you're telling me?"

He laughed. "Not - it counted. But isn't that my job?"

"So, you're saying you just re-proposed and Rome was. . .what?"

"Dry run?" he murmured.

"I hate you."

Castle sat up suddenly, and she tumbled off of him, laughing as he rolled over her. His eyes were dark and warm, a blue that spoke of sleeping in bed all day while it rained outside.

"Let me open_ my_ engagement present first," he murmured.

"You already did," she hummed back, arching into the stroke of his hand.

"One more time, baby."

"Just one? I was hoping for two or three."

He laughed and bent down to claim her mouth.

* * *

Castle caught the pair of pants she threw to him right as he stepped out of the bathroom, laughed at the look on her face.

"You cover that up," she muttered, gesturing her hand up and down the length of his body. "I can't resist and I want my present first."

He laughed harder and fell against the wall as he struggled to pull on the sweatpants, his shoulder hitting hard. It wasn't like he was naked either. He had on clean boxer briefs.

She raised her eyebrows at his comedic attempt to dress himself, nodded her head at the tshirt she'd left out on the bed. "That too, buddy."

And then she turned swiftly and left him in her bedroom to get dressed. Castle shook his head and pulled the black shirt over his head, left his sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair was still wet and spiked up in every direction, but he wanted to watch her open her gift.

He shuffled down the hall in his bare feet, scraping his fingers through his hair but mostly giving it up. When got to the living room, she'd pulled a steak knife from the kitchen and was hacking at the packing tape.

"Whoa, look at you," he laughed.

She lifted her head and wrinkled her nose at him. He was reminded of that candid photo she'd set on his phone one time, and he turned around and went back for it, wanting pictures of this. "Hold on. Don't move."

"No way. You're too slow," she called after him.

He found his stupid phone finally under her bed and raced back into the living room in time to see her rip the packing tape off one side and attack the other.

"Hey, it won't - it's not breakable, right?" she said suddenly, lifting her head to him. He'd just managed to get the phone unlocked, and he took a photo of that cautious, optimisitic concern.

"Nope, not breakable. Well. Maybe. It's not glass or porcelain or anything."

She was gentler on this side of the box, but when she finally got the flaps open and the packing crate pulled out, she went for it again with an eagerness that didn't look at all like Kate Beckett.

He noticed her ring was still on. She hadn't taken it off. Not even for the shower.

Her breathy _ohhh_ made him look up at her face as the crate finally opened. She turned her head back to him even as she pulled away the last of the packing material from the piece of art he'd bought. "Castle."

He grinned and came into the living room, framed her shocked, beautiful face against the backdrop of her windows, and took the photo.

"Castle. How - you said you did this before we ever went to Rome."

She was cradling the metal base of the statue in one hand, her eyes going back and forth between him and it. He'd found an artist's representation of the angel Gabriel's wings from the Castel in Rome. Metal feathers were woven around a thick metal frame and they came together to a plate that read _on the wings of truth_ in Latin. It was mounted to a metal pole and seemed to be ready to lift up into the air.

"You have some interesting pieces of art here," he said when he was certain she really did like it. "And the wings are from the angel statue-"

"Where we were married," she said softly, and her fingers stroked the metal feathers.

Oh. Wow.

Yes.

That too.

* * *

She'd almost forgotten.

Shit, how could she have let this happen?

Kate Beckett crawled out from under him and snatched her phone before it could ring again, answered quietly. "This is Beckett."

"Ah, Kate? Darling, this is-"

"Yes, ma'am," she said quickly, shivering in the chill of her bedroom as she stalked towards the bathroom and slipped inside. "I'm so sorry I didn't call you back, but we just got into town."

"Darling, I don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh no, please," Kate said, pressing her hand to her forehead. "He's - he should - you guys should meet. Just once. Please."

"Have you told him? Does he - he must hate me. I know he must. I'd hate me. Abandoned at school when he was only a little boy, never to return - it has the makings of a Greek tragedy."

"Please come," Kate said quickly into the monologue. "He'll be there." She carefully didn't mention that she still hadn't figured out a way to break the news to him.

A soft sigh greeted her ears and Kate was once more reminded of the deep and wounded heart behind the woman's drama and flair. She'd only had a handful of phone calls and a flurry of emails; she'd never met her face to face. But she'd seen the pictures, had even gone to one of her shows on Broadway when Castle was in Brussels.

"All right, my dear. I - I shall be there. Three o'clock."

"Yes. Three o'clock. Thank you."

Kate hung up before Martha could change her mind.

* * *

She stood in the middle of her bedroom watching the man sleep.

She dreaded this. He'd reacted strongly when she'd first begun investigating, had practically cut her off, had tried everything to seduce her away from it. At the time, he had taken over her mother's case and she'd needed the distraction so desperately that she hadn't given it much thought.

Be honest, Kate.

She'd wanted him to feel it too. To hurt like she hurt. His mother for hers. So she'd been manic in her inquiry, had even run afoul of his father a few times-

Oh, was _that_ it?

A relative of Martha's had mentioned something about her needing help for a difficult decision - it'd been about the same time Martha might have found out she was pregnant. And then again a few years later, a second relative - a cousin who lived in the city - had admitted that Martha had come to him with complicated questions about parental rights.

He'd not been able to help her all that much - it wasn't the area of law he practiced - and at the time, Kate hadn't been thinking about Black. She'd been thinking about this woman who'd wanted to cut all ties, disavow her own son, but-

But what if that wasn't the case at all?

It'd been pulling teeth to get Martha to agree to this at all, and yet Kate had almost tasted the longing in the older woman's voice, in her effusive emails. She craved knowledge about her son; it'd been the thing to convince Kate that their meeting was a good idea.

She had never sounded like a woman who had intended on giving up her only child.

And Kate knew firsthand how devious Castle's father could be when he wanted something. When he wanted _Castle_.

A wash of horror settled hard in her stomach and she stared at the spy in her bed.

This could be a whole lot worse than she'd anticipated.

Shit.

She had to tell him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

Castle woke to find he'd been sleeping on his back, and now a warm and rather lascivious blanket had begun to run her cold fingers up and down his sides, rolling her hips softly into his.

"Mmm," he murmured with a grin, opening his eyes. She was pressing her lips against his skin and thumbing the ridges of his ribs. "Best way to wake."

She licked at his belly button, her fingers slipping over the waistband of his pajamas. He gasped as she found what she was looking for, barked a curse when she lowered her head.

"Fuck, Kate," he groaned.

"Exactly."

His eyes rolled back as his hips jerked without his permission and soon the soft morning light was eclipsed by the white burn of pleasure.

* * *

He couldn't even get himself together to help her out any; he just lay panting on the bed as she crawled back up his body. She leaned down and pressed her mouth to his and he couldn't even breathe enough to enjoy it, just let her kiss go on until he thought he might pass out.

He realized after a moment that he was gripping her arms tightly, still, and he released her one finger at a time, managed to finally open his eyes.

She was watching him intently and he gave her a lazy, helpless, pleased as all fuck smile.

"Good?" she murmured.

"Fuck, you are so good."

She laughed. "I meant you. Are _you_ good?"

"I can be. Give me like an hour to recover from that-"

"Castle," she complained with another laugh. "You just looked like you might - pass out."

"I still might," he groaned. He felt flattened, like she'd just eviscerated him. In the best way possible. Fuck. He couldn't even find any good words for it; she'd ripped all those out of him as well.

"Well, are you conscious enough to talk to me?"

"Oh, Kate, baby, you can have anything you want."

She hummed, and he could hear she was choking back laughter and trying to be serious, but hell if he could do anything at all about it. Serious? He couldn't form coherent thought even if her life was at stake.

Wait, no. He could. He definitely could. Not funny messing around with that.

"I have something to tell you and I don't know exactly where to start."

His mind drifted in the haze, and he registered somewhere that Kate had lifted up behind him, that she was stroking the hair back from his face and that his head was practically in her lap.

Shit. If he had any sense, he'd turn his head and put his mouth - at least _try-_

"Castle, promise you'll forgive me."

Forgive her?

He opened his eyes and saw her greens swirling anxiously in the brown sea of her gaze. She petted him, hand in his hair, the other cradling his cheek, thumb brushing over his stubble and he stared up at her, trying to figure out what exactly she'd just done.

"Are you pregnant?" he blurted out.

Her eyebrows knit; she bit her bottom lip.

"Cause I don't care. I mean, I care. Obviously I care, cause like that's a huge thing, huge-huge, and we're laughing about it, the klutzy kids, but fuck I don't know that I'm any good at - okay, off-topic right now, but Kate there's nothing to _forgive_ because it's both of us at fault for that, and I swear you said you had it taken care of, but things happen and that's fine-"

She laughed dryly and shook her head at him, slapping his cheek softly. "Shut your mouth before you dig a hole you can't get out of, Castle."

He shut his mouth and blinked up at her, just now realizing how her whole body was bent over his, like a shelter in the storm.

What storm?

"Castle, I found your mother."

His stomach dropped.

"And we're meeting her today at three for drinks."

"Fuck, no."

* * *

She stilled her hands over his face and chewed at the inside of her lip, tried not to let it get to her, really tried.

"You're pissed at me," she got out.

"Fuck, Kate," he growled and struggled upright, dislodging her hands. "You just - shit, when is sex going to stop being a tool for you?"

She withdrew her hands, pushed them into her lap. He was getting out of bed and yanking his pajamas back up to his hips. The scar in her back ached and drove the pain straight through to her sternum.

"Fuck. I fucking hate this."

She lifted her eyes to him and swallowed, pressed the heel of her hand between her breasts and breathed.

"Every damn time. I can't even trust it anymore. Shit. I need a shower."

And he slammed the bathroom door.

* * *

She scraped her fingers under her eyes quickly and got out of bed, stood there a moment not seeing.

God, this wasn't right.

She was messed up, but even now. Even now, her first instinct was to open the bathroom door and shed her clothes, slip into the shower and make it up to him. Apologize with her mouth.

And not in words.

She swiped at her eyes again, once more, realized with a numbness in her chest that the stone in her ring was scratching her skin. She stared down at it and got her thumb and forefinger at the band, tried tugging it off.

But it wouldn't come, and the damn tears were slipping faster, and all she could do was stand there and take it, just take it, and then the sob broke out of her and she couldn't hold it in.

* * *

Fuck. Where were the damn towels?

He punched the tile wall and kicked the bathtub hard enough to break a toe - who the _fuck_ cared? - and he jerked his pants back up over his hips (she'd probably maul him if he was naked, wouldn't she?) and then yanked open the bathroom door to grab a damn towel.

Kate was on her knees on the floor, her body canted forward, and even over the sounds of the shower, he could hear her.

Weeping.

Oh, God.

He fell to the floor beside her and wrapped both arms around those shaking shoulders, palmed her head to pull her against his chest, lifting his eyes to the heavens.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. Kate, love, please. Kate."

But she was shoving hard on him and scrambling away, a groan ripping up out of her that sounded animal and ragged, and he lost her.

She stumbled out of the room and it took him a stunned, stupefied moment to get to his feet and follow her, going faster now as she disappeared.

He practically ran into her in the living room where she'd stopped dead in front of the coffee table.

Where the wings were spread out in a mercy of metal feathers. Her wedding present.

He wrapped his arms around her again and pressed his open mouth to her cheek in a crush that was less kiss and more desperation.

"I'm sorry," she choked out against him, and he felt her hand fist against his waist, her body rigid and trembling, and her tears on his lips. "I don't know how to do this."

He clutched her tighter because he just didn't know what else to do. Because it hurt deep that she fucked him to get what she wanted out of him, hurt in places he still hadn't ever touched, but he'd forgotten how dark it was for her as well.

She still wasn't hugging him back.

"Castle, say something."

When he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out was a terrible grief, and she shivered at the sound and her tears started again and he wasn't doing her any good at all.

But he couldn't let go either.

* * *

She stared past the curve of his arm to the beautiful wings. How strong. How the metal feathers wove together to create the impression of lightness and lift at the same time.

How impossible it was to ever achieve.

Impossible.

Warped metal could never ascend.

She closed her eyes and felt it rush back, swallowing her.

Still he held on. She didn't even know why, and she didn't know why she hadn't stepped away from him and grabbed her keys and just left - escaped - walked the streets of New York until she was numb enough not to feel so much anymore.

She needed wings. But she'd never have them.

His hand suddenly fisted painfully in her hair and she lifted two fingers to her cheek, felt the hot place where the scratch from the ring was throbbing under her eye, burning with the salt of tears that wouldn't stop.

And it came back to her then, what Black had said in the airport.

_You think there haven't been others?_

And it was true. It was so terribly true.

She was no better than them - the women he had loved only to be betrayed by them. Colleen in the lake, trying to slit his throat with a knife and drown him. The CIA agent - Turner? - who had slept with his father in some evil mind game, traitor and betrayer in one. And Kate was no better.

Black had just been trying to warn her; he'd only been telling the truth.

She unfurled her fist and felt the bare skin of his waist against her fingers, the warmth of the ring between them.

If she stopped it now, this thing they did to each other, if she gave the ring back-

Oh God.

If she did this, if she could just let it go, if she could just pull herself together long enough to do this one last thing, this one thing-

She might yet save him.

From herself.

* * *

He felt it when it happened. He didn't know what it was, but her whole body released, like she'd come to the end and had nothing left, and it scared him because he'd never - he had never seen her give up.

Never.

And then she was calm, an eerie and dangerous calm, her breath held and then drawn out slowly, and he clutched at the back of her neck because he could _feel_ it, he could feel her closing down and walling him off.

Abandoning him out here alone. Without her.

As if it was just that easy.

And it broke him.

His knees let go and he gripped her harder to keep from falling, pressed his forehead to her neck and sucked in gulping breaths, wouldn't, he wouldn't let her go, it wasn't okay, it wasn't right, she couldn't-

She couldn't leave him. She couldn't.

She swayed, and her cold hand came up to his neck, fingers slipping into the hair at his nape and God if she was going to touch him like this, like she still loved him, like he mattered at all to her, he was going to die.

And then she trembled, and the sob broke out of her, and she was crying harder and calling his name and her mouth was over his tasting like salt and the ragged edge of darkness.

"I can't," she gasped. "I can't stop. I should, but I can't, and I'm so sorry, oh Rick, I'm so sorry but I can't not have you. Don't let go. Please, don't let go."

"Never. No, never, Kate."

* * *

They sat side by side on the couch, not touching, and he had his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees and she had to resist, every second, the urge to put her fingers to his back and feel the warmth of his skin as reassurance.

His breathing was still ragged and she recognized that this was probably something she should start.

But unlike dealing with the aftermath of his father's intrusion, she had no idea where to start or what to say. Apologies had begun to sound hollow and ridiculous after she'd said them a few hundred times, and touching him was out for obvious reasons.

He had pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and she had her knees drawn up to her chest, her chin on them as she tried to _think_.

Damn it, hadn't she just told Castle she was an adult woman who had dealt with infinitely worse in her capacity as detective? Did she have _no_ words?

He built her palaces with his words.

And she had nothing to offer in return?

"She's funny," she said quietly. It had popped out; she hadn't been thinking. Shit, this was a bad idea.

But his head turned to her, his eyes appearing from behind his hands.

Her heart flipped over. "She's been nervous about meeting you today, but she keeps covering it up with laughter and humor and these sly comments."

His head lifted, his eyes blinked slowly at her.

"I saw her on stage," she whispered.

His mouth dropped open. Nothing came out as he stared at her.

"The further I got in my search, Rick, the more I loved you, and the less I could tell you what I'd done. And then somewhere in the back of my head, all I could think was that you'd never forgiven her. You've never forgiven her and what hope do I have of your forgiveness either?"

That lick of surprised chased by guilt in his eyes wasn't what she'd been going for.

"But then again, when have you ever not?" she added. "When have you _ever_ said no to me? And I wanted to be sure."

He opened his mouth and cleared his throat. "But do you see how that got twisted into - when do I _never_ say no? Where have I let you do exactly as you liked?"

"In bed," she said quietly. She could own that. "I can make you do anything like that. But I never meant - that wasn't what I thought I was doing this morning."

He didn't look convinced.

"I like the way you look at me. I like the way you lose control."

He groaned and his head went back in his hands, and she realized maybe that wasn't fair. She could be more judicious about her honesty.

"I knew I was going to hurt you. So I wanted to make you - happy first. Balance out the bad with some good."

He lifted his head again and seemed to settle his chin on his clasped hands, stared off into space like he needed time to think.

"You know," she kept going, like a damn moron. "I always like getting the good news first. Then the bad. The good news buoys me, prepares me for the bad."

She saw an eyebrow lift on his profile, and then his slow, deep voice, not at all amused. "Next time, Beckett, lead with - _Good news, Castle, you're getting a blow job. Bad news - I completely ignored everything private and painful you told me and I contacted your mother behind your back." _He sighed hard. "Then maybe I can decide to be - buoyed."

Oh.

She waited because it was only the truth - it was exactly what she'd done only she hadn't even given him the chance to refuse her (it was like blackmail), but honestly, on the other side of it, she didn't quite understand why it was so terrible to want to ease him into the bad news. To brace him for it.

_To make sure he loved her before she delivered the killing blow._

Was that it? Had it communicated a lack of trust?

And oh, oh damn, there was that time she'd gone after Coonan alone, but first - first she'd done the exact same thing before she'd stolen his key card and left him in that hotel room.

"Oh," she murmured, touched her finger to her lips.

Well that was an unfortunate precedent. And it wasn't what she meant this time - that time she'd been messed up, really messed up, and she hadn't thought he'd understand or care - _even though he'd told her he loved her. _Even though he'd been the one to keep her head above water. Even though-

"Well, fuck. I need a damn therapist," she grunted, rubbing briskly at her forehead. Dr King. That was his name. The man from Stone Farm. She could call him through the CIA exchange and even if he couldn't do a long-distance thing, he could refer her to-

"It's - it's likely that I overreacted," he said suddenly.

She turned her head and saw he was looking at her intently. His eyes were dark, no blue left in them.

"You think?" she muttered, bit her bottom lip because the snark always made him retreat.

But he was only staring - almost through her.

"I felt you leave, when we were standing here in the living room. You went somewhere else for a second, and I felt your hand on my waist, the ring, and it was like. . .it hit me then."

He felt her leave? She hadn't left. She'd been right here.

"It's possible my mother's - leave - leaving me," he choked out, shaking his head with growl. "It's possible that I'm a lot more fucked up than I thought." He gave her a weak and apologetic smile, a faint and damned thing that fell right off his face.

Forget this no touching thing.

She reached out and snagged his wrist, pulled his arm against her chest and leaned against his back, her mouth at the bare skin of his shoulder blade. His other hand came to tangle in her hair, scratch lightly at her scalp.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You didn't ask for this."

She laughed, a little hysterical. "Castle, please let's not start comparing fucked-up-ness. Because I would beat you hands down."

"Yeah, I don't think you would. And saying it like that, now you've got my competitive juices flowing and I'm ready for a throwdown, Beckett."

She let out another laugh, this one a little less unhinged. Trust Castle to joke about it.

Trust Castle.

"I'll call her back. Some other time."

"You think I should do this?" he said suddenly, and she felt him turn his head back to meet hers, his mouth skimming her cheek, his hand tightening in her hair. "You think it would - help? Help me? Because I can't keep hurting you so deeply, Kate. It's unacceptable."

She bit her bottom lip and blinked through the cascade of her relief.

"It can't hurt you much more than it already has," she said finally. "And then maybe you and I both need to find therapists."

He gave her a sighing smile, tilted his head into hers so their foreheads met. She sucked in a quivering breath and shifted until she was in his lap, her arms curled around him, his body warm and strong beneath her.

"Three o'clock," he murmured.

She nodded, felt his forehead moving with hers.

"Can we just stay like this until three? I think I need more of your good news," he whispered. "PG version."

She choked on a laugh. Oh shit, he was joking about this already?

But she only hummed and stayed exactly where she was.

* * *

When she'd fallen asleep over him, her body pressed into the back of the couch and her hands finally still, he sighed and tried to relax. She'd been touching him while they laid there, her hands stroking his sides, her fingers smoothing over his biceps, thumb brushing his scruff, everywhere.

But he'd been knocked down too far to rise again that quickly. And yes, it was uncharitable to assume she was trying start something, wanting to make love this soon after a fight like that, but he couldn't figure out what else she was trying to do.

Castle was the one who needed his hands on her, who touched just to touch, who liked to soothe with the heat of his hands over her skin.

He supposed it was possible she'd just been picking up on his cues, doing for him what he always did for her, thinking he had needed it. It was possible. He'd let it go at that, give her the benefit of the doubt.

Really, what helped him most was having her firmly on top of him, settled beside him and not going anywhere.

She wasn't going anywhere.

He was ashamed of how often he found himself repeating it like a mantra, a litany of syllables to ward off a grief he'd never tapped before.

No. That wasn't exactly true. When she'd been shot in front of him, _instead _of him, that same overwhelming and debilitating grief had mired him. It'd taken months for him to muzzle its gaping maw, settle it down again. And they'd had some rough times then too, Beckett stuck at Stone Farm and Castle unsure of whether he should stay and force his help on her or go and let her work out her own salvation.

It'd been a little bit of both, but he'd mistakenly assigned the emotion to simple fear for her life. No wonder he'd been such an asshole to deal with, no wonder his demands on her had been so wild and inappropriate and overbearing.

What had she said? They needed therapists.

He snorted to himself and it seemed to wake her, rouse her from whatever emotionally-drained slumber she'd found. She twisted her face into him on a sigh, still not entirely with it, and then he felt her stiffen as she remembered - what they'd said, what they'd done.

So much for celebrating their engagement. So much for the hayloft in Italy or the wedding in Rome or that night in the hotel in London. So much for any of the good they'd built up against their own twisted issues. Their darkness seemed to swallow all of that whole.

Her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her breath sighing out along his bare skin. She suddenly seemed so small and withdrawn, a world of her own catching her up.

No more of this. Why did the day have to be ruined? Why couldn't they start right now at fixing themselves, fixing _them_?

So he jumped right in.

"I have a story for you. If you want to hear it."

"Mm?"

"I was going to get your notebook and write it down but I didn't want to move you. You looked peaceful."

He could feel her tentative smile against him. "So tell me a story, Rick."

"When I was five-"

She startled and her head jerked up to look at him, her eyes fathomless and staring at him. He kept going.

"The headmaster called me into his office. I'd only been there a semester and all the kids were packing to go home for Christmas break. A handful stayed over the holidays - their parents were in Europe or were too poor to afford to get them home. It was a co-ed boarding school, and I remember something like twenty-five percent of them were scholarship kids. It was a good school."

She was tracing her finger over and over his bicep, her cheek back against his shoulder; he could feel her whole body listening.

"So the headmaster, Mr. Ellis, calls me into his office. He'd always been nice enough, a little reserved and stiff, but not bad. He sat me down and gave me a hershey kiss, and as I unwrapped the foil, he told me that my mother wanted me to go home for Christmas with my father."

"Oh?" she breathed, two fingers now smoothing over his bicep.

"My first thought was rather unkind towards her. I felt - vindicated. She couldn't keep me from him anymore. I always - I'd asked about him. I wanted to know who he was and why he wasn't with us. She kept telling me she didn't know who he was - it was just one night, but look what one night had done."

He paused and felt his story drifting; he'd had a point to make.

"So when the headmaster said I'd be going with my father, I thought, now my mother can't keep him from me. She'd known all along, and now finally I'd get to know him. I knew I'd like him better than her. I knew he'd be so much - more."

"Oh, Castle."

She can't - if she starts sounding so damn sympathetic, he won't make it through. "I was a naive five, for all the moving around and growing up in the middle of a production. I'd had all these stories made up for him, for who he was, how strong and brave and kind he was."

Her fingers curled around his bicep.

"How he'd - he'd always wanted his son but my mother kept me from him. But here he was now; he was coming to get me. I wouldn't have to go home with _her_ and be shoved off on some cast member, or have to perform for a director who visited entirely too late at night, or foisted on some babysitter I'd never met while my mother laughed and had fun without me."

She had her palm pressed warmly to his arm, squeezing rhythmically, comfort or concern or just to let him know she was there.

"I sat in that leather chair, too big for me, my feet were swinging, and I ate that chocolate, and I thought - the only thing I thought - was _finally._ Finally."

"Oh, baby," she whispered.

He cleared his throat and kept going. Had to keep going. "Mr Ellis took me back to my room and supervised while I packed. One of my bunk mates helped me throw stuff into my suitcase. Mr Ellis led me back outside - he was carrying my suitcase for me - and we walked to the front drive."

"Did he know your father?"

"I have no idea. That was the last I ever saw of him. He waited with me for twenty minutes, just standing on the main steps, but it felt like no time at all. All I could think was that one word - _finally._ And then the black car drove up the circle."

He could feel Kate hold her breath.

"A man got out from behind the wheel, and it's just a blank now - a white out - no clue what my first impression was, nothing, because he came around to stand in front of the car and shake Mr Ellis's hand and all I could think was - that's him, that's him."

She was barely breathing against his chest, her hand gripping his arm like a vise.

"But it wasn't. He'd sent a driver to get me. And the driver opened the back door and jerked his head for me to get inside."

Castle took in a long breath and slowly loosened his hold on her, managed to card his fingers through her hair. The jagged pieces in his chest stopped shifting.

"Rick?"

"Mm?"

"And then?"

And then nothing. And then. . .this. "That's about the closest I ever got to knowing my father," he said. He shrugged and brushed his thumb over her ear. "The man who finally came for me, but couldn't be bothered to come in person."

She was pressing her forehead into him, her eyes against his chest, her shoulders hunched up. He hadn't meant to start them up again, the terrible feelings. He'd only been trying to explain how this had always worked for him, how that had shaped his ability or capability to love.

"So whatever I've got. . .it's love with hang-ups, sweetheart. That's what I'm trying to say."

He got a kiss on his chin for that, and then her voice in the too-quiet apartment.

"The night my mother died, I spent most of it resenting her."


	9. Chapter 9

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

After her admission, there was a long and unfortunate silence, and then Castle shifted under her on the couch and cupped his hand at her neck and jaw. It was like she was trapped.

"What happened, love? To your mother."

"I was supposed to go back to school in a couple days. I was going to drive back with friends across the country, and she'd said no to it at first, but I'd finally worn her down. That night we were supposed to have one last family dinner out somewhere nice, just the three of us. Dad and I waited for her."

Castle was brushing his lips over her forehead and somehow that made it harder to speak.

"She didn't show up. I said something nasty about it to my dad - _Work ruined things again_. She'd gotten caught up in one the cases she was going to trial on, and she'd forgotten the time. I think maybe we both thought that for the first two hours. Two hours, Castle. Two hours while my mother was bleeding in an alley. In pain. Bleeding and alone."

"No, Kate. No. She wouldn't have even felt the first one, and that was the kill shot. The others were for show; she'd have lost consciousness. It happens like that with stabbing. I promise you, sweetheart."

"Well," she said roughly, trying to chuckle but failing. Her throat burned. "You'd know, wouldn't you?"

"I would. More than once I've been stabbed. But tell me the rest. Tell me."

She sucked in a breath and let it out. "I was so mad at her for ruining it. So upset with her for getting wrapped up, for not making _me_ more important for once. I was being a brat, because it wasn't like I hadn't gotten her to myself all vacation long. We ice-skated together - just the two of us - not a few days before that."

"But it's your mom," he said quietly. "You were about to leave home again for a school clear across the country and you just wanted your mom, Kate."

"Yes. Yes, and she - she wasn't there when I wanted her to be. And she hasn't been here since. She's gone, irretrievably gone. I will never have that dinner with her."

His arms finally wrapped around her, a fierce hug that did nothing to fill the empty ache in her, but did a lot to crush it down where at least it couldn't eat at her.

"And so you went looking for _my_ mother," he said finally, a kiss to the top of her head. "You went looking for mine and now-"

"Now at least you'll know. You'll have the chance."

She heard him sigh, felt him turn on the couch until they were lying side by side, cramped this way, but she could see his eyes and the sad slant of his mouth, and the way his hand hovered over her cheekbone, as if he was afraid to touch.

"This is why I want to marry you," he murmured, and then he skimmed his fingers down the side of her face and she still didn't understand.

* * *

His fingers had a mind of their own. He couldn't stop touching her, as if he was reminding himself of her skin, the curves of her bones, reminding himself that it was good between them, that it could be good if they let it.

"This is why," he said again, his finger at her lip and tracing the line of it. He wanted to see her smile. "You do what's right, even when I don't want to see it."

She watched him, some confusion in her eyes, a mixture of things he couldn't identify. And no wonder.

"It'll be different," he murmured. "It'll be different for us."

The seriousness in her eyes began to shift, like a signal. Since the couch was too small for him, he slipped his hand behind her thigh and pushed closer, arranged their bodies in the narrow space. She had her arms curled up at her chest, and she still only watched him. Careful and waiting.

But she didn't move away from him. "It'll be work," she sighed.

"It will." He nudged her nose with his, a brush of a kiss along her cheek. Her fists loosened against his chest, her fingers cool and light at his skin. "You're worth it."

"I don't always do what's right," she said finally. "I make mistakes. Big - terrible mistakes, Castle."

"This isn't a mistake."

"I don't mean to use you," she insisted, her eyebrows knit fiercely above the murky green of her eyes. "I didn't mean to make you think that it's only just sex or-"

"No. I forget sometimes that you're not from my world; you don't operate like that."

She seemed to know what he couldn't explain, what he was so terrible at finding the words for. "Like the women who've betrayed you."

"You're not them. You're - singular in my world. Rare and-"

"And I love you." Her sigh was coupled with the slow sink of her head to his chest, like giving in, nothing for it.

He pressed his palm into her lower back until their bodies were flush, and then he stroked up her spine. She was warm, she was still edgy with their fight, but her shoulders relaxed when his fingers came to spread wide over her scar.

She loved him and it wasn't the corrupted, tainted thing that he'd experienced so far in his life. She loved him in a way that made her fight, made her run to his side when the guns came out, made her the best part of his strength.

And he had to honor that. Starting now.

"Let me ask forgiveness," he murmured, his thumb skimming her jaw, his eyes filling up with the knowledge of her. "I want to be worthy of this."

"What's to forgive?" She spoke and pressed her lips to his chest, sealing him. "We did this together too. The fighting and the love both."

He pressed his fingers at the scar on her back, then brought his hand to the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head. Her hair had gotten in her eyes, and he brushed it back, felt her skin against his. The heat diffused between their bodies, spreading and easing the chilled places until there was no barrier at all, until they were the same.

He skied his fingers down the slope of her hip and curled his palm at her thigh, watched the progress he made, saw her watching as well.

She brought her hand down to close over his. "Maybe this isn't the best idea after. . ."

"Love me, Kate. And let me love you."

Her thumb made a slow circle over the back of his hand and then she showed him how good it was.

* * *

When she got stiff and achy on the couch, Kate pushed on him until he got up with her, their fingers lacing together as she led him back to bed. Her first step over the threshold made her pause, but his body was nudging her forward and following her down between the sheets.

He curled up around her and shifted his thigh between her knees, in that unconscious gesture of support he still made, even after everything. She reached down and skimmed her fingers over his knee even as he settled in behind her, his kiss at her scar, the back of her neck.

And then she felt him fall asleep.

With his body alongside hers - not hovering, not shielding, not protecting, simply _framing_ her own - she knew they'd found a new way.

They could love each other, they could create love between them. They could be home.

* * *

They walked.

Castle felt clean like this, with the cold air in his lungs and the faint heat of her at his side. Neither of them were leading, just ambling down the sidewalk and stepping around the lunch crowd.

When he'd woken up, she'd nudged his shoulder with her nose and told him she wanted to get out. _Take a walk with me, Castle._

She'd been right. The connection to the outside world, the reminder that they could be normal, the busyness of downtown-

"We should get a dog," she said.

Castle laughed and glanced over at her, reached out to hook his fingers through hers. "A dog."

"It's cold out here, but we could walk the dog."

"And what do we do with it when we're overseas?"

"Hm."

He squeezed her fingers and sidestepped a cafe table; she didn't seem to be finished though.

"Ryan could take care of it. Doesn't Carrie have a dog?"

Carrie Eastman. "She does."

"She could take care of it - she'd understand. I like her."

He smiled and she tugged him towards the crosswalk; they stepped off the curb and joined the crush of people trying to get across Fifth Avenue.

"I should probably ask Carrie first," he said when they were back on the sidewalk.

"Well, yeah. And when I go back to the NYPD." She shrugged and when he looked at her she was frowning. "If I go back."

"I'll get you back."

"I don't know," she sighed. "Being able to go back means we get Bracken. So. . .then what am I doing at the NYPD?"

"Your job," he said quietly. "Your life's work."

"I just don't know if I want that to be my life's work, Castle." She seemed to be slowing down as they walked 53rd Street, like she couldn't get past the mental block of what happened _after._

He wouldn't ask why; he knew. He'd been in that same endless loop himself ever since he'd met her - ever since she'd broken in like a thief and stolen all his rationalizations. "You could stay. Here. At the CIA."

Her fingers twitched in his, a sure sign that she was actually thinking about it, but he said nothing more. He didn't want to influence it one way or another; she had to do what was right for her.

"I want a dog, Castle."

He stepped closer to her, their walk so slow now that people were shooting them dirty looks as they passed. But his chest was tight at the look on her face, and he knew he'd be going online looking at rescue places tonight.

It was impossible, but-

"Hey, wow, look," she murmured, suddenly moving past him. "Paley Park."

Park? They were in the middle of 53rd Street. Where-

"Oh," he laughed, coming after her and stepping into the cube of space left open to the sidewalk. Thin trees gave a shivering shade, and the concrete was interspersed with potted plants and clusters of table and chairs. At the back, a wall of water rushed with a white noise that made all other city sounds cease.

They stood hand in hand in the middle of Paley Park, buildings rising high on every side, the waterfall vibrating light in the cool air. He felt her step into his side and her palm met his, a warm kiss of their hands.

They moved as one towards the water wall, drawn wordlessly to the soothing of quiet space, the temptation of green. The park had been filled with winter plants, rustling in the wind, and despite the grey tree branches, it was an oasis.

Before they managed to make it to the water feature, Beckett stopped him with a little noise, broke from his hand to step away. He followed and saw a huge piece of art at one side, a kind of wall of graffiti spray painted with messages and a man with a square head, some kind of red elephant or something-

"It's a segment of the Berlin Wall," she gaped, turning to him with her hand outstretched.

He took it, came to her side as he studied the massive concrete slabs. He reached out and touched the protective surface, skimmed his fingers over messages of love and hate and desolation and hope.

"What does it say?" she murmured.

He let his eyes travel over the German, the tangle of words now overwritten after years of tyranny and half-covered by the artistry. "Tear down this wall," he spoke quietly. There were others, but that was the thread, that was the point.

Tear down the wall.

He felt her breathe in deep and then her head came to his shoulder, warm and with him.

* * *

They were early for the meeting with his mother, which was good for him, she thought.

Sofia Wine Bar in Midtown was a sophisticated, cramped affair with dim, rosy lighting and wood finish. She eyed the bricked in patio, evidently a portion of the adjacent alleyway and enclosed to give patrons extra seating. It wasn't quite warm enough, and she didn't know if Martha would see them outside either.

She picked seats at the farthest spot from the front door, remembering that Castle needed to see the whole place from his seat. He settled in with her at the half-booth and drew his finger over the wood grain of the table. Kate watched his face flickering with anxiety and she reached out to cover his hand, squeezing.

They'd talked some in Paley Park - expectations about what he was looking for here, what she thought might happen. She'd offered to stay for a few minutes and leave them alone to it, but he'd threatened to go home if she didn't stick with him.

_Partners_, he'd growled.

She would stay.

And looking at him now, hunched into a too-small space with his face clouded, she got up from her chair opposite him and slid into the booth at his side. He glanced up, startled, and she rested her palm on his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.

His fingers came up to curl at her jaw and his thumb brushed her chin. "Thanks."

"Whatever comes of this," she said quietly. "You and me, Rick. Got it?"

He nodded and a cracked smile came to his lips. "I'm so getting you a dog, Kate Beckett. And if he survives us, a couple kids to play with him."

She pressed her lips together, a slight shake of her head at him. Sweet but stupid, her super spy.

The waiter interrupted them with the wine list and Castle ordered two glasses of a vintage he wanted her to try, another selection for his mother, then added tapas as well. They fell into a comfortable silence; she people watched, his hand at her knee, heavy and warm, and she let herself lean into his side.

After a few minutes, they were served and the wine was rich with wood smoke and dark fruit, the olives and cheese spread over thin bread exactly the thing she needed to complement the mood and the quiet. She hadn't realized how hungry she was either.

The third glass sat untouched across from them.

She glanced at her father's watch and realized Martha was definitely late.

"Late," he said sullenly.

Kate sighed and licked the spread from her thumb, glanced at him. She couldn't see his eyes in the shadows of the wine bar, but his mouth was in a severe line. She reached out and brushed a bread crumb from the scar at his chin, and he turned into her touch.

She kissed him again, tasting wine and cheese, and leaned back, unconsciously checking the time again.

The silver of her ring glinted cheerfully even in the dimness, a moon in the rosy light. The stone was deep and dark, so grey it was nearly black.

She lifted her eyes and saw the door opening to the bright sunlight outside, saw the sharply thin profile coming inside.

The door shut and her vision blurred, refocused as her eyes adjusted quickly.

"There she is," Kate said softly.

She felt him jerk to his feet, half crouch back down, only to change his mind again and remain standing like a gentleman. Kate came up beside him and moved out from behind the table to greet his mother.

* * *

She was small, a slight thing, her hands clasped together at her chest.

"Richard," she spoke, and it was strong, a voice used to delivering lines and putting on a character like a mask. "Oh, Richard."

He had nothing.

Kate had her by the arm and was leading her towards the table; the older woman sat perfectly poised in the seat, and Kate pushed him down into the booth, slid in beside him.

He sat heavily, leaned back as he studied the woman.

She picked up the wine glass and cradled it, lifting it to her nose to scent before taking an expert sip. "Mm, lovely. Quite good."

Red hair - vibrantly red. How had he forgotten that? Seeing her now, he remembered it. Longer then, much longer, curled in waves around her face that had brushed his cheeks when she'd bent over him, kissing his forehead in goodnight.

And manicured nails, rings around her crooked fingers, arthritic knuckles perhaps, or simply age. He remembered those cool, strong fingers pressing against his shoulders, realized suddenly that Kate's hands were shaped the same.

"Richard, I - it's good to see you."

He felt Kate's fingers at his knee, squeezing in prompt.

"Mother," he said gravely.

"I refuse to let this be awkward. So tell me. How have you been, darling?"

He jerked and felt Kate squeezing harder, the ring on her finger digging against his kneecap.

_You left me._ _To him._

But he didn't say that.

She kept going, like nothing was amiss. "You look good. You look happy. Kate's told me a few things; she's a strong girl. She was quite insistent; I have to say I'm grateful for it. Oh, look at you, kiddo."

The flutter in his chest was now a fist.

Kate's fingers left his knee and her hands were reaching out to clasp Martha's, he saw his mother's white knuckled grip, like a lifeline, and he realized she wasn't nearly so confident and blasé as she was making herself out to be.

And he wanted to rescue her, he wanted it to be saved.

"I'm good now," he agreed, heard the scrape of his voice through his throat. "Kate and I are getting married."

Martha let out a little noise and her eyes turned to Kate, their clutch squeezing tighter, and his mother brought her hands up to kiss Kate's fingers.

"Oh, look at that - I see. What a lovely, unique ring. Look at how it shifts in the light. Why - that's a blue garnet, if I'm not mistaken. Richard. You do well for yourself, that's one of the most expensive gems in the world."

"It is?" Kate gasped, turned to him with an open mouth. "Castle."

"And a castle?"

Rick sighed and gave Kate a look, _later_, and turned back to his mother.

"My name," he said gravely. "My own name. Castle."

"I suppose your father wouldn't let you keep Rodgers. I should've - thought of that."

"It's not _his_ name either," he said thickly. "I won't have his name."

"Whyever not?" Martha asked, her head jerking back, a hand coming to her chest as if confused.

"Why not?" he laughed, could hear the bitterness in his voice even as Kate squeezed his arm in warning. "Why not. Because he's a cold and heartless bastard. He's never - but I think you know what he's like."

"I don't," Martha strained. "I don't know him really at all. I never did."

* * *

Kate rubbed her palm down his thigh as Castle sat like a stone beside her. She glanced quickly to Martha, the awkward silence between them filling up all the space at the table.

"Martha," she said quickly. "Maybe you'd feel better telling us what happened."

The older woman's eyes shot to hers, a churn of emotion that was soon wiped clean, the ever-ready smile and twinkle back again. Perpetually optimistic, a veil of ease and charm to keep out the world, to keep herself from dwelling on-

the truth.

The truth about what she'd done.

Kate had wondered what had caused this woman to give up her five year old son to a man like Black.

"What did he say to you?" Castle asked sharply, just now - it seemed - getting it. "Mother," he whispered. "What did he say?"

Martha waved a hand like it wasn't important, ran her fingers along the beads of her necklace. She wouldn't look at either of them.

"That's all in the past, dears. The distant, unchangeable past." And then she was turning to face them, a bright smile. "Kate, darling, congratulations. Richard, you treat her right, you hear me?"

She could tell that Castle wanted to bully Martha into a confession, but it wasn't the way to get answers. Would never be the way with a woman like this.

"Thank you," she said warmly before Castle could start. "He's very good to me. I'm lucky."

That did it; Castle startled and turned to look at her, that soft surprise on his face, under the table his fingers sliding under her shirt to get at the skin of her stomach, stroking.

"Kate," he murmured.

She nodded towards his mother, an imperceptible movement, but he turned his gaze back to her and cleared his throat.

"If you have time," he said quickly. "I'd like to hear about - what you've done, been doing. Since."

A hesitancy shadowed the older woman's face, and Kate could feel Castle tense beside her, a sharpness in his intake of breath that had her heart twisting for him.

But Martha nodded once. "I can do that. Easily."

Kate gave her a reassuring smile. "And I want to know all of Rick's embarrassing childhood stories. I need stuff to hang over his head; he's already got all of mine."

"Oh?" Martha said, a faint smile coming to her lips as her eyes lifted to Castle again. Like she couldn't stop looking at him.

"I stayed with Kate and her father while I was - for a few weeks this spring," he explained.

Spring. Kate turned to him with a faint and struggling surprise. "That was only this _spring_," she murmured.

They'd come back to the city only to jump right into her mother's case and then Montgomery had been killed and she'd been shot at his funeral and then the whole summer and part of early fall she'd been in recovery-

"Time flies, doesn't it?" Martha said suddenly, her voice both quiet and strong in her certainty.

Kate broke her gaze from Castle's and turned back to his mother. His _mother_. "Yes, it does. And we can't get it back. But maybe we can make up for it."

"Lost time," Martha said, nodding her head. And then her eyes cleared, a sharp and vibrant blue that were so much like her son's, so very similar that it took Kate's breath away. "When Richard was three, he tried to save me from a subway rat. Gallant little man. And he might have succeeded if the rat had not run straight for him. He screamed like a girl and jumped straight up into my arms."

Kate chuckled and felt Castle sighing at her side, his body subtly relaxing back into the booth.

"I hate rats," he said then.

And Kate knew it would be okay.

Not great, but okay.

* * *

Castle stood on the sidewalk outside the Sofia while Kate put Martha into a taxi. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, and he knew he should go forward, say good-bye, but a petulance had risen up in him.

He was done.

He was tired of it. The stories, the light laughter, the strain of polite conversation, the childhood antics he didn't remember, the careful side-stepping around the subjects his mother didn't want to talk about.

He wanted Kate alone to himself and he wanted to not think about the story - the story his mother hadn't told.

The only story he wanted to hear.

Why she'd left him to a man like Black.

When the door of the taxi cab slammed shut, he turned his eyes back to Kate and watched her come to him. He'd been expecting a frown, a sliver of disappointment in her eyes, the etching of her forehead. But instead, she put her hand on his arm and her mouth pulled into a cautious smile.

"How do you think that went?" she murmured.

He shrugged.

"She's. . ."

Castle grunted, let his eyes follow the cab down the street. "Something. She's something. Nothing at all like me."

"Oh, I think you're wrong." Kate threaded her arm through his and tugged. "Let's walk. And talk."

"I'm tired of talking," he muttered.

"Don't be a baby. You need to get this out."

"Now who's a bully?" He cast a glance her way and saw her smile lifting wider, brighter. He felt it vibrate in him as well, the sensation of relief echoing in his chest.

He followed her down the sidewalk, hunching his shoulders as the wind kicked up. She scraped a hand through her hair to keep it off her face, and her cheeks were pink, eyes on him.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed. "Give me a chance to figure out what I think before you make me talk."

"Fine. You've got ten minutes to pout."


	10. Chapter 10

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

Maybe it was because they were quiet, maybe it was because she was waiting on him to start this conversation about his mother, so she was trying not to pressure him, just scanning the pedestrians, the crowded sidewalks, paying attention-

She just happened to be paying attention.

And she saw him.

Agent Deleware.

Kate nearly fell off the curb waiting at the crosswalk, and Castle caught her by the elbow, chuckled at her with a tilt of his head, and she tried not to panic.

Castle couldn't know. He absolutely couldn't. He would be furious.

Deleware had followed them. Which meant Black knew, would know; Black had warned her, had threatened her not to keep looking for Rick's mother.

But _why?_

Why the hell did it matter so much?

"Kate?"

She jerked to attention and saw Castle waiting for her in the street, pedestrians flowing between them, around them, crossing to the other side. He gave her a crooked, studying smile and held his hand out to her.

She carefully avoided looking at Deleware or determining exactly where he was, and instead she laced her fingers through Rick's.

When they were lost in the crowd, hand in hand and Castle slightly ahead of her, leading the way, Kate finally let her eyes scan across the street.

Deleware was gone.

* * *

Castle jiggled Kate's hand with his, waited until she finally looked at him.

"Hey. You're lost in thought. My mother scare you off?"

A swift transformation fell over her face, and then she was shaking her head. "Baby, after what you've put me through, it'd take a lot more than an old theatre actress to get me."

He grinned, couldn't help the laugh that pulled out of him. _Baby_, huh? "It hasn't been easy."

She softened, less amusement and more serious tenderness. "No. But we seem all the better for it." She tugged on their joined hands and dragged him closer for a kiss.

They stopped traffic with it, her tongue caressing, her taste rich with wine and her love for him. Castle touched two fingers to her cheek, couldn't help stroking into her hair and holding her there.

When a pedestrian jostled him into her, Castle stopped, broke away with a sigh. She hummed, that satisfied sound in her throat that made him so damn proud - because it was for him, about him, she was content and he'd done it.

"Hey," she said. "Come on, Castle."

"I don't need my mother," he said suddenly. "I haven't needed her for a long time, Kate. But because of you - I have - I don't know. Something. There's something where there was nothing before."

She brought her hands up to frame his face and kissed him again, a rough and hot brand of her mouth before putting him away.

"You don't have to ride off into the sunset with her, Rick. Just taking the chance, giving yourself the opportunity to know her. . ."

"She never explained why," he sighed, then shook his head at the way that sounded. He didn't need to know. He didn't. Martha had been right; all of that was in the unalterable past.

"She might - eventually. You never know," Kate said gently, tugging on him to get moving. "She could be embarrassed or ashamed. She might not know how to explain it. But it's a start. At least it's a start."

Castle let out a long breath, trudging at her side, staring off into the distance. He felt Kate's hand in his, her fingers chilled by the wind, but he didn't see anything beyond the grey of midtown's buildings and the strips of winter sky.

"Rick."

"Yeah."

"Do you. . .see anyone?"

Was he seeing anyone? He gave her a confused glance then realized she meant a professional and shook his head. "But I'm sure the CIA has a staff therapist - I'll have to use him or her. I won't be allowed to talk to a civilian. Come to think of it, Kate," he winced. "You'd have to use the CIA's official guy as well."

She gave a sharp laugh and ran her fingers through her hair, staring at him. "No, I - not what I was - I'll have to see the CIA's shrink? Is Dr King - would he be on the list?"

"Probably," he shrugged. "Most likely. I could ask." Not his father; he'd ask carefully, find people he could trust. If Black found out that either of them were seeing a shrink. . .

"Yeah, do that," she murmured, glanced away from him.

At that moment, they passed Paley Park wordlessly and he couldn't help yearning for it, but Kate was making that hesitant noise at his side, like she had more to say.

"Rick. I meant, did you notice someone following us?"

Fuck. No.

What?

* * *

"Where? Who?" he barked.

Kate grabbed him by the shoulder and kept him walking. "No, not - no. Castle. It's just Deleware."

"The fuck is Del doing-" His face cleared and he shot her a blank look. "Kate."

She bit her bottom lip and avoided his eyes, took in a sharp breath. "It's possible your father is having us. . .monitored."

"Why does that sound like you know all about this?"

"When I first - when I was looking into this. When I started searching for your mother." She frowned fiercely at the sidewalk and tried to keep herself anchored to the present with the tight grip of his hand over hers. Hadn't he just said they'd been through a lot? This was nothing. "I'd gotten you stabbed and your father came into the hospital room-"

"You did not _get_ me stabbed. Stop saying that like it was your fault. Coonan stabbed me, Kate. Dick Coonan. Not you."

She grit her teeth and kept breathing, steady in and out. One foot in front of the other. Castle was like a mountain at her side, a sleeping volcano. She knew this wasn't a good idea, but not telling him was worse.

"Your father came to see me. He warned me that I had no business poking my nose in your past. He told me I'd regret opening up old wounds. I'd gone up to Montauk - Martha's family is there."

He stumbled at her side, dragging her out of the flow of traffic. "Montauk? You - when did you do that?"

"During the whole - when you first started looking into my mother's case. I needed something to keep my mind off all the things I no longer could control."

"I didn't know you'd done that."

"How do you think I found her?" she asked quietly.

He ran a hand down his face and raised his eyes to the heavens. A grunt as he accepted that and then he was leading her back down the street again.

"Okay. All right. The important part of this - Agent Black had Del follow one of us - or possibly my mother - to the wine bar. So he knows I've met with her."

"He warned me to drop it, Castle. And I did for a while. Actually, no. I just did it more quietly. And then after I was shot - it just, it fell through the cracks until I felt better. Esposito and Ryan helped me."

"Your boys," he murmured. "I can't believe he threatened - okay. Yeah. Yeah, I can believe it. Never mind."

"But, Rick. The most important question here is _why_? Why does it matter to him if you meet your mother?"

Castle snorted and tugged her to the curb where they waited at the red light. "Kate. What did I tell you about him?"

She blinked and shook her head. "He. . .he wasn't much of a father."

"Less than. He's the mad scientist in a human experiment. Me."

Kate's throat closed up at the bleak grey of his eyes. "Castle."

"Before you, I was the CIA's perfect specimen. I worked like a machine. But you're good for me, Kate. You're - you're _life_ to me. You make me - for the first time since I was six or seven - you make me dream things. I want a dog and marriage and returning home safely and a boy who looks like you and-"

She pushed her mouth against his to shut him up, silence the beautiful but impossible story he was putting into her head. His hands cradled her cheeks and forced her to go slowly, to let it last, and she hoped she wasn't crying.

But it'd been a long, terrifying, wonderful day.

And she was afraid she was.

* * *

It was a stupid idea. It was irresponsible and foolish and it would never work.

But.

He was gonna do it anyway. He called Carrie while Kate was getting a hot dog from the vendor, studied her while he waited for Carrie to pick up. Kate was reserved in her way, but warming up to the man as he teased and flirted with her. She looked exhausted, but he was probably the only one who'd notice - her beauty shone through the tired lines and the pinched set of her mouth, made her luminous.

Carrie answered with a warm hello; he could hear the sound of traffic on her end and he wondered if she was in the city. It'd been a few weeks since he'd gone over to check on her, and to his shame, he realized he didn't know if she ever came into the city at all.

"It's Richard," he said. "How are you?"

"Richard, I'm hanging in there. Mark - he was always so proud of you, what you'd become. I know you feel like you owe him, but really, you don't have to-"

"It's not obligation, Carrie. You're - family."

He watched Kate pay for their hot dogs as she picked out toppings; the vendor was adding relish and ketchup and mustard.

"That's good to hear," she murmured. "Are you in town? Is Kate-"

"She's right here with me. We got married and then we got engaged."

Carried laughed - a pure and clear and normal sound. Untouched by the impossibility of the news, simply happy for them. "Oh, Richard. Congratulations. She's remarkable. Really."

"She is. She - is." He wasn't going to get choked up, not here. Jeez, Rick. "I actually am calling you because I have a pretty big - make that a huge - favor to ask."

"Name it."

"I want to get Kate a dog."

"Okay. I know a few rescue places, if that's-"

"But Kate's been. . .working with me, Carrie. Overseas."

"Oh."

He winced at the judgment in her voice.

"Well. Richard. A dog is - that's - who will take care of him when you're-" And she stopped, let out a slow chuckle. "All right. That's why you're calling me."

"You're the only one I'd trust with it."

"Richard. Really."

"Really."

"This is kind of an impossible-"

"I know, but Kate - there's so much we won't - I'm not a normal guy, and-"

"Richard," she chided.

"And Kate's in the middle of this crazy - damn, Carrie; it's a conspiracy is what it is. Her mother was murdered - I know you saw that on the news. But it goes deeper and we've been working at that together, and to keep her - both of us - safe right now, she's given up her job to become an agent." He grunted. "A sports agent."

She laughed over the line and Castle saw Kate heading back for him, loaded down with three hot dogs. He quickly cleared the hesitance and desperation off his face, kept it neutral.

"Care?"

"All right. Okay, Richard. Yes. I will co-parent your dog with you and your fiancee."

Kate gave him a big grin and jerked her head towards the steps of the old church; he followed at a distance, letting her lead the way until she was sitting and waiting for him.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll text you when I know more."

Kate handed his hot dogs up to him and he sank down beside her to eat.

"Who was that?" she said.

"Just - getting some stuff cleared up." And then he switched the subject, but made it ambiguous enough that it sounded related to his first statement. Spy 101 - how to tell a lying truth. "No work the rest of the week. Ryan's wedding-"

"On Saturday," she said in a rushed breath. "Yes? You can - we both will be able to make it?"

"Of course, Kate. We'll make it."

"Oh, good," she sighed. "Thank you."

He was getting her a dog. He couldn't really give her a normal engagement, a normal wedding, a normal life. But he could damn well give her a dog.

* * *

She saw he was nervous. They made dinner together at her apartment and he kept touching her. That was how she knew.

She didn't know about what - maybe the meeting with his mother was still churning around in his head - but she'd decided to let it go for now. Their fight from this morning was still too fresh for her to test their patched together peace, so she let him touch.

She didn't, however, let him boss her around her own kitchen. She made the spaghetti sauce the way she normally did, but she added in the fennel seed and carrots just to appease him. He'd been doing some messing around in the kitchen these last few months, making her things, and since he seemed to like it so much, she deferred to his recently-gained expertise.

"Open some wine," she murmured, pushing him away from the stove when he tried to taste test the sauce. "I'm almost finished and the pasta is about ready."

Castle turned and opened the skinny cabinet beside the fridge, pulled out the cabernet without pause. She smiled to herself at his choice and found the collander for the noodles, poured them out to drain. He came back to her with a glass and she took a sip, a little boring but nice after the rich taste from the wine bar.

He took the glass back from her and moved them both to the table; she saw he'd already set out plates and forks, everything ready. "Bring the plates," she called to him. "We can serve from here."

When she felt him at her side again, she turned to look at him - the soft and wandering look in his eyes, the willingness to be led - and she sighed and pushed him towards the pasta with his plate, taking her own.

"Get some noodles, super spy."

He startled out of his daydream and gave her a crinkle-eyed smile, all beautiful beaming happiness.

And she knew it was okay - whatever it was - it was something good.

* * *

"What do normal people do now?" he asked her. He embraced her and his fingers were wet from washing the dishes.

Kate laughed at him and slung her arms around his back, pressed her hips into his as she tilted away from him. She was warm and content, and her hair was caught up in a messy knot at the back of her neck, strands curling around her ears and temple where Castle had been playing with hit.

He was leaning after her, and she let him chase down her lips, taste her amusement.

"Mm, normal people," she laughed around his mouth. "Normal people watch tv, surf the internet, go to bed at nine."

"We could go to bed now," he said avidly, lifting his eyebrows at her.

"And just sleep?"

"Ew, no. Boring."

She grinned and nudged his hips with hers, smiled when he finally drew away. "Turn on the television. Grab the laptop. Relax with me. You can relax, can't you?"

"Yes," he said indignantly. "In theory."

She laughed and pushed him away, went for the television to see what they could distract themselves with. He had already claimed the laptop, one of his secure devices she saw, and he had sat down on her couch.

He patted the cushion beside him and she rolled her eyes at his come-hither glance, but she sat down with him as she flipped through the television stations. He opened his arm and she leaned into him, then gave up trying to pretend like it was nothing, let her head fall into his lap.

"Tired?" he murmured. "Sleep, Kate. I don't mind. I have some things I gotta check in with at the office."

She_ was_ tired. This had been a tiring, wrenching day. Going to bed at nine like a normal person actually held more than a little bit of allure.

But no. His mother.

"Today okay for you?" she murmured, kept her eyes open to look at him.

Castle put the laptop at his side and combed the fingers of his free hand through her hair, loosened it from the rubber band. She had no idea what station she'd left the tv on, but it was a pleasant white noise in the background.

"Today? Today was brutal."

She huffed and blinked through the flutter of his hand around her face. He traced the lines of her eyebrows and gave her a soft smile.

"I don't know about Martha," he said finally. "We'll see what happens."

"But you and me?"

He cupped her cheek. "I know what happens here." His thumb stroked over her jaw, his gaze intently blue; she closed her eyes and let the man do as he liked, easing into the sensation of his fingers at her face, then back through her hair again.

She drifted for a moment, listening to him type emails with one hand, thinking about the look on his face when Martha had walked into that bar.

Her knees curled up into her chest and she slid a hand under his thigh for the warmth. Castle rubbed his hand down her arm and came back to her neck, kept it there, heavy and solid. She laced their fingers together and tugged his arm around her, turned her body into the cushions.

"Kate."

"Hmm?" she murmured. She couldn't see him like this anyway, so she kept her eyes closed.

"Thank you."

She startled and half turned to look up at him, their laced fingers falling across her chest. He rubbed his thumb at her collarbone and his eyes were serious.

"I'd never have gone looking. I'd never have - I didn't want to know. I guess I was punishing her with my continued absence. But I was punishing myself too."

"You should have the chance to know her," she murmured.

"Thank you, Kate. I was angry at you, but. . .thank you."

She brought his palm to her mouth and kissed it, felt his fingers fluttering over her lips. He turned his head to the laptop, and she rolled back to her stomach with his arm still around her neck, let herself finally, finally relax.

She was going to fall asleep like this. She was going to fall asleep with his arm wrapped around her and pressed into her chest, but that was okay. That was fine, because they were fine, they were really fine, and she could sleep.

* * *

He hadn't been lying when he said he had work to do, but he didn't do it. He scrolled through pet rescue places online while Beckett slept, chuckling to himself when he realized she was drooling onto his leg.

Well, better get used to it. A dog wouldn't exactly lower the drool quotient.

There were so many kinds, such a wide age-range, and he knew, intellectually, that it was still such a bad idea. They didn't have a lifestyle that was conducive to a dog, but he was stubborn and she'd been half-wishing when she'd said it, like she thought it was impossible.

And it was. Really, it was.

But he didn't know that he could ever give her the wedding in New York that she deserved (thus the wedding in Rome), nor the life that he longed for them to have, only that he loved her and he wanted her as his wife.

So he was getting her a damn dog.

Beagles, German Shepherds, Great Danes, Corgis, mutts. Puppies and old dogs and hunting dogs and abused dogs and three-legged dogs. Lap dogs and mop dogs and-

Huh. Wolfdog puppy. The narrowed snout, tall and triangular ears, the slitted eyes - blue. Blue eyes it looked like in the picture, half closed though they were. A year old pup found by a hunter in a deer stand upstate, definitely a distant relative of a wolf, somewhere back there.

Dark fringe of fur around the neck but white around the eyes, almost reddish at the ears.

A girl pup.

He wanted this dog.

The puppy was at a rescue foster home near by; there was a warning attached to the posting. _Plays well with other dogs, loyal to and playful with humans. The leg will heal._

He wanted this dog.

* * *

She roused when he carried her in to bed, vaguely aware that he was saying something about having to go. Her fingers curled at his bicep but fell away, the lure of sleep and the heavy comforter and the smell of him in her pillow.

He kissed the corner of her mouth and stroked her hair away from her neck, and then she was asleep.

If he was going, she knew he'd be back.

* * *

Stymied.

He had to fill out an application with the rescue organization and since he wasn't exactly registered with the state of New York, he had to put Kate's father's name down as a reference. And then he texted Jim to be sure the man wouldn't ruin the surprise.

After a few days, he was allowed to play with the puppy at the man's home for a while, stroke her fur and get used to her personality. She was inquisitive, but calm; she didn't mess with him too much, but when he petted her, she looked like she could stay there for ages.

She was an independent thing, nosing around him and then settling on her haunches at a distance when he had to stand and leave. She didn't whine or nip at his heels, but she watched him with those blue, knowing eyes.

Oh, yeah. This was the dog.

He wanted this dog.

* * *

Castle seemed a little hyper lately. Which was funny, not something she normally associated with him. Kate had woken up early, like she usually did, and the sun was out, the bed was warm, but Castle had been nowhere to be found.

But she'd smelled coffee.

When she'd slipped on socks and a sweatshirt, she'd padded out to the kitchen. There he was, his back to her, making breakfast.

"Morning, Castle."

He turned suddenly and waved the spatula at her. "Eggs."

Her stomach churned, heart sank, and it must have showed on her face because he froze.

"You don't like eggs?"

"Let's just say I've probably had enough eggs to last a lifetime."

"Yeah?"

"Pretty much all I had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner while I was at Stone Farm."

His face fell. "Oh."

"Finish making them for yourself." She moved around the island and brushed her hand over his back. "I can get cereal."

"No way. Not-uh. If not eggs, then what?"

"Castle, you don't have to-"

"I got mad skills, Beckett. Let me prove it to you. Anything you want."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Creme brulee."

He huffed at her. "Within the realm of the breakfast kingdom, Beckett. Come on."

She grinned and bit her bottom lip. "I thought you got mad skills."

"Don't be mean."

She smirked and stepped up on her toes to kiss his jaw. "Okay. Make me french toast."

"I can do that." He waved the spatula up and down her pajamas. "You should shower. I got plans for you, Beckett."

"Oh, really?"

"Shower. Get dressed. Be ready to go right after breakfast."

She twisted her lips and studied him, watched him slowly build a defense behind those blue eyes, and then she gave him a break and smiled. "Fine. I'm going."

Kate turned to go back to the bedroom and Castle swatted her ass with the spatula.

"Better not use that on my french toast, Rick Castle."


	11. Chapter 11

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

He followed her around the Financial District near the New York Stock Exchange. They passed Tiffany's a few times as she looked for a dress to wear at Ryan's wedding.

When she paused outside Hermès, Castle nodded towards the store. "Come on. Check it out."

"I don't think-"

"Come on, Kate. I _know_ you can find something here. With your body-"

She bit her lip and turned a devious glance to him before opening the door.

Thirty minutes later, they walked out with her dress.

And Castle spent the rest of the afternoon wishing he could get Kate back to her place. Model that dress for him.

Let him take it off.

He was suddenly looking forward to Ryan's wedding.

* * *

The next day, she was restless. Castle was awake again before her, but instead of letting him cook for her, she made him take her out.

They had breakfast at a diner near the 12th, and she ate mostly fruit despite his urging to consume a little more protein. She liked fruit, and she snitched a few bites of his sausage when he wasn't looking. When they were done, Castle took her hand in his and started leading them back to her place.

Kate bit her lip and glanced down the street. "Actually-"

"Yeah?"

She turned her head back to him. "Espo texted me yesterday."

"Oh. Hey, yeah. Definitely. I should've thought of that. You want to-"

"I do," she emphasized. "I want to see them. And Espo. . ."

"-doesn't really like me," he sighed. "You should go. Alone."

Kate kissed him and rubbed her fingers down his jaw. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all. I'll go back to the apartment and then I might do a little work," he replied. "Tell Ry I'm looking forward to his big day."

Kate grinned. "Thanks, Rick." She watched him head down the street towards the subway station, and she finally turned towards the precinct.

She missed her boys, and she wanted to see how Ryan was doing before the wedding. Esposito had texted her a 911, said his partner was talking about doing a cleanse with Jenny.

She had no idea what that was, but it couldn't be good.

* * *

Castle did actually do some work. Mostly setting up Kate's training for after Ryan's wedding; Castle wasn't looking forward to it, but it might be good that they spend some time apart. He needed to build a mission in Copenhagen, go after a team of gun smugglers that had been connected to Foley. If he did it right, got his ducks in a row, he could bring Beckett with him.

Until then, Christmas was approaching quickly, and it looked like they'd both be in town for it. He hadn't celebrated Christmas in ages; he remembered very little of his time with Martha, and so he didn't have any idea of what it should look like.

Beckett hadn't mentioned a tree or putting up decorations, but he thought if he did something small, they could enjoy it. They should enjoy it. It was time to start doing normal things. Maybe Kate and her father had something special.

With that on his mind, Castle went to visit the dog again.

The she-wolf was waiting for him at the door to the foster home, ears alert and eyes intent on him. Castle grinned and knelt down, held his hand out to her. She came forward but didn't bow to be petted, merely waited on him. Rick chuckled to himself and dragged his fingers through her coat, gripped her by the scruff.

"Mr. Rodgers?"

Castle looked up. "Yes?"

"Looks like everything is going through so far. We're still trying to get a hold of this last name on your reference sheet."

He pressed his lips together and gripped the dog harder. "My mother, actually. She's never been. . .good at the phone."

"We'll keep trying, of course. Wolf really likes you."

"You call her Wolf?"

"She doesn't have an official name. Once the paperwork and background check goes through, you can name her whatever you like. You said she's a present for your fiancee?"

"Yes," Castle said quickly. Background check? They hadn't mentioned that.

Damn it. He was going to have to build a cover just so he could adopt a damn dog.

He felt a lick at his fingers and turned to look at the thing. She cocked her head at him and nudged closer, stepping into him like she was expecting a hug. She'd gotten so big just in the last couple weeks and the splint on her leg had come off; she walked with something of a limp, but she was strong. Castle sighed and hooked his arm around the wolfdog's neck, stroked the sleek fur between her ears.

Fine. He'd build a cover for the dog.

* * *

"You. . .bought Christmas decorations?" she laughed, gingerly touching the red felt tree.

"Not decorations plural. Just one. This." He looked confused by her reaction and she realized they'd never talked about it. Christmas.

"Sorry, I just - I haven't really gotten into Christmas since my mom died."

"I thought so," he said with a quick nod. "I went looking through your storage space and then your closet-"

"You looked through my stuff?"

He stepped back. "Uh. Yes. I didn't see any Christmas decorations at all. And I thought we could just do our own thing. Make it our own."

"You went through my stuff."

"Am I. . .living here or not?"

She bit her lip and moved away from the coffee table, headed for the kitchen and a glass of wine. She'd gone sparring and she'd managed to work out most of her anxiety and restlessness and the still lingering sense of waiting for the the shoe to drop.

And now Christmas.

"Kate. That's a really long pause."

She turned back and realized- "Oh. Castle. Of course, yes. This is your home. I didn't mean to zone out on you. It's not about sharing our space. I just - Christmas is so. . .there's just all this complete and total darkness around that day and I can't-"

"I'm not saying let's do the whole thing. I don't have any expectations for Christmas, Kate. None. So you're not disappointing me, you're not hurting my feelings. Christmas means nothing."

She scraped a hand through her hair and leaned back against the refrigerator, studying him. He was being truthful, she saw; he had no expectations for Christmas, just maybe a latent sense that he ought to make it better for her.

Which was sweet. But really, letting the day go by in complete ignorance would suit her fine. Still, should they do more? He deserved to have Christmasmean _something._

"What do you usually do, Kate? Just. . .nothing at all? No traditions?" He gave her a hopeful look, such repressed _longing_, and she remembered. Finally remembered.

Black had never done Christmas. Little Castle had been picked up from boarding school for the winter holidays at five years old and he'd never gotten his Christmas.

And no Christmas ever since. No presents, no waiting up for Santa-

Oh.

Had he waited up for Santa that year? Not knowing - how could he have known at five years old that there was no Santa? And had he fallen asleep in a new house, with a stranger for a father, only to find nothing when he woke? _Christmas means nothing._

Oh, Rick.

"I'm usually at the 12th," she said honestly. "I take that shift because no one else wants to be at work on Christmas. It's my way of honoring my mother's legacy, her fight for truth and justice. I-"

She paused and watched him as he nodded encouragingly, sympathetically.

Her mother's legacy wouldn't be honored in the 12th this year, no matter how much or little Kate did about Christmas. She wasn't a detective any longer; she'd been put on administrative leave until the CIA released her.

And Castle had said he'd gotten them time off until right after Kevin's wedding.

She'd be home. She'd have to be home for Christmas - there was no work to be done.

And it was about time that Castle got the family he deserved.

"You're right," she said finally. "I can't - no tree. Please. But let's see what we can do about our own. . .having our own Christmas?"

The surprise that rippled over his face nearly made her heart break. It meant that Castle hadn't been expecting it at all; he hadn't even nursed some small seed of hope. He'd completely written off any chance at experiencing all that the season held. The magic.

Before her mother had died, Christmas had been so. . .so much. It'd been the bright center of their long and dark winter and it had been the one time her family had opened itself up and yet also closed ranks. They'd volunteered at a different charity every year, they'd collected gifts for the Angel tree, they'd always had one or two of her mother or father's clients for Christmas Eve dinner - usually from cases they'd done pro bono, people who didn't have family or were down on their luck.

And at the same time, they'd formed this cohesive, tight group of three. A trinity of their own. Christmas had meant special time together, a thread of laughter and love and tradition connecting them. Outward and inward, that had always been what her mother called it. Serve outward, serve inward.

That had been her mother's legacy as well, and look how poorly Kate had kept the inward ties to her family.

She'd done just fine serving her community, treasuring justice and mercy. But she'd done nothing to serve her family.

"Castle. We could. . .have my Dad over? Not Christmas day, just. . .sometime soon. For the holidays."

His smile spread wide and he strode towards her, pulled her right off her feet as he grabbed her in a bear hug, his mouth at her cheek.

"I'll go online and start learning how to cook dinner now that I've got breakfast mastered. Something special."

Something special.

"You're special enough for me," she murmured.

* * *

"I'd really like to get her in time for Christmas," he said cautiously, rubbing Wolf between her ears and glancing back up at the foster dad. Man. The man from the rescue.

"Yeah, I'm still not able to get in touch with your - mother you said?"

Castle grit his teeth and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to her," he sighed.

Wolf nudged him with her head, and he realized she was growing, had grown. Still a puppy, still fit along his forearm, but already Kate was missing out on stuff.

"I'll talk to her," Castle said again. "Promise."

* * *

Kate bit her lip but her father was on his best behavior. Castle was charming, as only a spy could be, and of course they'd all lived together at the cabin for weeks. So it wasn't like they were meeting each other for the first time.

"Katie. Look at that ring. Wow. It's a knockout."

Oh yeah. Well. She had told him, but he hadn't really gotten to see her in months. She let him have her hand to inspect and she glanced up to see Castle's anxious face.

Her father turned around, letting her go, and clasped Rick's hand. "Congratulations, son."

Castle looked like he might fall over. Kate chuckled and hooked her arm through her father's. "Dad, let me show you why I said yes." She led him towards her dining room table, and when her father saw it set perfectly and the food laid out, he laughed.

"Ah, I see. He can cook. I always knew you were a smart girl."

* * *

Jim Beckett was his usual slyly sarcastic self; Castle really liked him. They ate the ham he'd cooked - Beckett had done the cheesy potatoes and some kind of broccoli dish that was seriously fantastic (when had _she_ learned to cook?) and Castle was pleased with how well it seemed to go over.

"So, Rick. Kate told me you had the chance to meet your mother?"

He choked on a bite of broccoli and felt Kate's hand squeeze his knee. Swallowing quickly, he shot her a glance and she at least looked apologetic for it.

"Ah, yes. I - did. Kate found her."

"She has a tendency to latch onto a good mystery and not let go, son."

Castle huffed a laugh and saw Kate wrinkling her nose at her father. That was cute. She'd done that at him a few times too, and it made him want to kiss her.

"I've noticed that about her," he finally said.

"You mind me asking how it went?"

"Well. It was. . .something."

Kate sighed. "It was strange, Dad. She talked completely around the whole crux of the issue."

"That's not strange, sweetheart. That's just an older woman protecting herself."

"From us? We-"

"From herself," Jim interrupted, pointing his fork at Kate. "You wait. The older you get, the more things weigh on you. Things you should've done differently."

And now it was Castle's turn to take Kate's hand and squeeze, that nudge of support. She nodded as she looked down at her plate and Castle took over.

"Kate's right though. The only thing I really care about is why - why it happened - and I didn't get that. And probably won't."

"You going to meet with her again?" Jim asked. He pushed a bite of ham in his mouth and chewed, and he studied Castle like a man about to take apart a hostile witness.

Uh-oh. The man was a lawyer. "No? I don't know."

"You should."

"That's what I told him," Kate sighed.

"The Becketts are ganging up on me?" he said, giving a crooked smile. "I know that I - it might be better if I did. I haven't had that kind of thing in my life and it's difficult to adjust my priorities now. Honestly, I think it's too little, too late."

Jim laced his fingers together and gave Castle a long look. "Son, I know there are issues. And obviously I don't know all the details - based on Katie's silences."

"Dad."

He held up a hand to her. "I don't need to know. Not my place. But what I do know, Rick? A woman like that is complicated. Like Kate's mother used to say, she has her reasons. There's something that will make sense of this."

"A story," Castle murmured.

"Exactly. My own parenting history isn't rosy either. And I'd bet that quite a lot of people would look at what I did to my daughter and-"

"Dad."

Castle watched him wave away Kate's concern with a wink, reaching out to squeeze her hand on the table. "No, Katie. I know what I did. But if an outsider looked at it - they might be as dismissive of me as Rick is of his mother."

"I don't know if I'm being dismissive," he defended. "I just don't - can't see what good it will do. For either of us. She didn't look comfortable being there."

"She's just feeling the weight of guilt," Jim said, and there was such knowledge in his eyes that Castle swallowed down his next comment.

The man might be right.

"Should make you come with us next time," Castle chuckled. "Sounds like you have more to talk to her about than I do."

But Jim put his fork down and gave Castle a brisk nod. "Son, you need me there, I'm there."

Castle must've made some kind of noise, some movement revealing his surge of overwhelmed disbelief, because Kate was turning to him and wrapping her fingers around his bicep, stroking.

Calling his name.

He jerked his attention to her and she was giving him a soft, patient smile. "Told you so."

Told him-? Oh, yes. That first case with the Chinese spies, she'd told him that her father was normal, that he'd like her father.

"You were right," he said quietly, and then he lifted his head to Jim, who just looked confused. "Sir, I appreciate that. Thank you. I'll - let you know."

He'd never had a man like Jim willing to show up before.

Kate squeezed his arm and got up from the table, kissed his cheek as she passed. "Who wants dessert?"

* * *

Kate set up the dentist appointment in her phone, checked her schedule against the already posted dates. Christmas, of course, and she still wasn't entirely sure what Castle meant for them to do. And then a week after New Year's was Ryan's wedding-

New Year's.

Shit. She had no idea. They hadn't gotten much further than an awkward conversation about Christmas decorations and dinner. And since she was out and Castle was grocery shopping, maybe she should call him and coordinate this.

Beckett walked out of the dentist's office even as she pressed the phone to her ear, her steps slow, trying to think. Honestly, a night at home and no pressure sounded perfect, especially after the Christmas thing.

When Castle picked up, he sounded - funny. "Are you on the subway?" she asked, laughing as a strange echo bounced around behind his voice.

"No, just - ah, taking care of some last minute shopping."

Shopping. "Not. . .Christmas shopping, are you, Castle?"

"What do you mean?"

"We're not doing presents. We said - I thought we agreed not to add that after the ring and-"

"No, not - no. This isn't Christmas."

Her shoulders slumped. "Okay. Good. Well I called because I was just reminded of New Year's."

"Yeah?"

"Is there. . .do you want to - do something?"

"Oh. Well. I guess people do things." There was a long silence and then he chuckled. "What do people do?"

"Castle, you're lack of holiday culture just astounds me."

He laughed, a bright bark that seemed to echo. "Yeah, well. Forget it, then. What do you want to do, Kate?"

"Just - celebrate at home," she murmured. "With you."

"Yeah. You make resolutions?"

"Not formally."

"Sometimes I have, never really saw the point though."

"You're okay with staying in?"

"Kate, my life - you've seen it. Staying in would be a welcome relief. Especially with you."

She grinned and her steps were lighter as she headed down the sidewalk. "All right. It's settled then."

* * *

Castle called his mother.

He hadn't wanted to. He'd been avoiding it, but he had to.

She picked up after the phone rang through twice. "Richard?"

"Yeah this - yes. Have you not - I thought I texted you about the man from the dog rescue calling-"

"Oh. Text. Huh. Richard, darling, I'm incompetent with technology. If I have text on this phone, I'm entirely incapable of finding it. What is this about a rescue?"

He sighed and rubbed his fingers at his temple. "I needed references. I put your name down. A man from the dog rescue has been trying to get in touch with you-"

"Oh! I thought it was a charity drive," she laughed brightly. "My fault, darling. You put me down as a reference?"

Oh, fuck. How in the holy hell was he supposed to explain this? "Yes. I - there aren't a lot of - I don't want it to get back to Kate. It's a surprise for her."

"Oh yes, well. Of course. That makes - perfect sense."

And he could tell by the why she said it that it made no sense at all, but he was unwilling to explain. She couldn't know he was a spy and had no one who knew his real identity; he'd talked about this with Kate. It was safer for his mother that way.

"I need you to call the man back. I have his number. It's just the pet rescue - and don't - just don't get into a long story about. . .anything. Just answer his questions and reassure him I'm not abusive to little animals."

"Well, one would hope."

Castle felt the laugh dragged out of him and leaned back against the wall. "All right. Fair point. I'm not abusive to animals. Or children. Or women. Kate would never have me if I was."

"Kate's a beautiful person. Very good, Richard. Give me the number."

"You'll do it as soon as I get off the phone with you?"

"Of course. I have a few friends here at my place; we're going over some scripts. But I will get right on it."

But she didn't.

She called the rescue two days later, and it was nearly too late.

* * *

He hadn't meant it to be a Christmas present, but it was Christmas Eve before he got the damn application approved. The foster parent called him right as he was hunting through the grocery store for a last minute can of apple pie filling.

"Mr. Rodgers - I'm sorry it's come down so late. Do you still want Wolf? You can get her-"

"I do," he interrupted quickly. "Yeah, I do. It's Christmas Eve - are you okay with me coming by now?"

"Sure. I've got all her stuff here too, so you won't have to worry about food or a collar or anything."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. My - uh - my mother-?"

"She finally called me yesterday. She's quite a lovely woman. My wife spoke to her first. They were on the phone for hours."

_Hours?_

Castle groaned and the man chuckled. "Don't you worry. She was quite charming. And she made my wife feel so - well, I guess you know all about that. We have some family stuff going on until later tonight. Do you mind picking up the dog at eight or so?"

"Tonight? No. Not at all. That's perfect, actually."

Heart pounding, Castle ended the call.

He had a dog.

No thanks to his mother.

* * *

He seemed distracted at Christmas Eve dinner. He'd started everything early, so they were eating by three in the afternoon, and Kate had managed to actually get the apple pie to turn out nearly as good as she remembered her mother's.

And she couldn't quite believe she was having the Christmas dinner tradition again. With him. Lovely man.

"You okay?" she murmured, helping him clear plates and do dishes. He nodded and she placed another stack in the sink, but he stopped and caught her around the waist, brought her body against his.

"This is nice," he said softly. "Being family together."

She hid the overwhelming urge of her smile into the side of his neck and kissed his skin, her arms tightening around his torso. She breathed into him, felt him beginning to relax.

"You were worried about it?" she noted.

"A little. Yeah. But you actually can cook."

"Shut up," she laughed.

"I mean, it was touch and go there for a while, and I'm glad I bought two cans of apple filling, because who knew you could-"

"I hate you," she groaned, nudging him back into the sink, pressing her hips to his. "You're so mean."

"The pie was fantastic, love. Really."

She hummed and laid her cheek against his shoulder, swayed with him in the middle of her kitchen. "Dinner was perfect, Castle. You've got hidden talents."

"I know, right? I should've been a chef."

"Or an interior decorator," she laughed.

"Not manly enough for me. Gotta have some guns in there somewhere."

"Don't deny your gifts," she smiled. She didn't open her eyes, but she could see all he'd done so clearly in her mind. He'd pulled in fresh evergreen branches and pine cones from the park and laid them in the center of the table; he'd fashioned these wreaths over her windows and made the little red felted tree into something both chic and also familiar, classy.

Her place looked warmer, more lived in with his touches. Not a Christmas overload, just a subtle reminder that there was still love in the midst of bleak winter.

"You tired?" he murmured.

"Mm, little bit. Ruining two pies before successfully baking one has worn me out."

He chuckled at her temple and skimmed his fingers up her back, into her hair. "Go lie down. I'll finish the dishes and then come crawl in with you."

"It's early-"

"A nap. Come on. I've learned to take sleep when I can get it. You should too."

The reminder that there was a life outside her apartment - a job and a mission and danger - made her even more tired.

"Maybe I will. But you cooked everything and I should at least-"

"Next time, Kate. Plus you sleep now, you can pay me back tonight."

She chuckled at the seduction in his voice but it sent a curl of heat to her abdomen anyway.

"This time with handcuffs?" she murmured.

"Silk ties," he replied easily.

"You've been thinking about it."

"Oh yeah."


	12. Chapter 12

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

She was dreaming of blood, wet and warm, the lick of it along her jaw and cheek, and when she turned, she couldn't find him. Not at first. There was just the blood, and the darkness of her sleep, and then she thought she heard him calling her name. Softly. Faintly. Like he was weakened.

She lifted her hand to smear through the blood at her neck and instead felt fur.

"Kate, love," he chuckled. "You're kinda crushing her."

She woke in her bed then and opened her eyes to two sets of blue.

"Castle?" She sat up and the dog - the _wolf_ - scampered off her chest and turned in the comforter, nosing the pillow before it came back to Kate, solemn and watching. She realized it'd been licking her fingers, her neck, and she dropped her hand to its head.

"Do you. . .She's a year old. She's calm. For a puppy," Castle said. He was sitting at her side and stroking his fingers over the dog's tail. "Is she. . .you like her?"

Her. "You got a _wolf_?"

"No. It's a dog. Well, a wolfdog, technically. But the rescue place said that one of her parents was most likely a hybrid, because her features suggest more dog than wolf."

Looked like a wolf to Kate. But the reddish fringe around her head, the dark shag of fur along her back that mixed with that multi-colored grey and then white pelt - she was a regal looking thing.

"Does she have a name?" Kate asked.

"Up to you. The rescue has been calling her wolf."

"Castle. You got a dog."

"Us a dog."

She lifted her head to look at him and she realized then that it was important; he thought it was so very important.

It'd been an idle statement, a wish. The idea of having something between them, of building on what they'd started. She hadn't meant - not exactly - _Castle, go get me a dog._

"I thought we said no Christmas presents."

"_Us_ a dog, Kate." He gave her a lopsided grin that still looked fearful, hesitant, hopeful. "Both of us. A present to ourselves, if anything."

She stared at the wolf with its cocked head and blue eyes.

He got a dog.

"Is it okay?" he asked.

And instead of all the questions - _Where did she come from? What are we supposed to do this thing? Where does she go when we both have to leave?_ - Kate only slid her hand under the dog's rib cage and lifted the gangly thing into her lap. Big dog for only a year old.

"She needs a name," Kate said finally, stroking between the long ears. Her nose narrowed like a wolf's, and her eyes slit closed as Kate petted her. "She needs a good name."

"We'll think of one," Castle said, shifting to sit against the headboard. Kate turned and leaned into his side, carrying the rangy wolfdog with her. She really was calm for a puppy, sedate, and her ears pricked up at the sound of their voices. The red halo of fur around her head made her look exotic, more than just a wolf, more than just a dog.

"She's beautiful."

"Yeah," Castle said. He was stroking the puppy's paws, and apparently she didn't even mind. She squinted her eyes shut and yawned, that light pink tongue stretching, and then shook her head once and dropped it to her paws, her eyes on Castle.

Smitten with him. Of course she was. That's just what happened around him.

"How'd you find her? How'd she get to the city?"

"Dog rescue. A hunter found her in a deer stand with a broken leg. Not wild, though; she was tame. He didn't know how she got up there, either."

"Because she's clever." Kate pressed her hand harder between the dog's ears, felt her head push back, something like purring in her throat. "You are, aren't you? To find a way up to that deer stand so nothing could get you."

"The hunter said she seemed to know that he'd help her. She didn't bite or growl at him, and he said it had to hurt her, him climbing down with the dog's leg broken."

"Smart girl," Kate murmured. The dog lifted her eyebrows as if she knew, and her eyes rolled back to Kate. "How's her leg now?"

"Mostly healed. I don't think you can even tell, but she does have a limp, and you can feel a small knot on her bone."

"Poor thing," she murmured, the sleek, soft head nudging up against her hand again. "Well, no. She's not a dog to be pitied. She can take care of herself. She was already taking care of herself."

"Independent. Seemed like the perfect dog for us," Castle chuckled. He leaned forward to stroke both hands down the dog's neck and to her shoulders. It pulled her ears back and she gave them another yawn and shake of her head. Completely unruffled.

"I like her," Kate said finally. "She'll be big. Good watch dog."

"Yeah, a watch. . .dog. Swatch. Rolex. Seiko."

Kate snorted and elbowed him. "Go get your laptop, Castle. I wanna give her a good name. And not one after a watch."

He laughed at her and pushed off the bed, giving the dog one last rough pet. Kate watched him leave the bedroom, saw that the dog was doing the same, and she stroked her hand over the long body. Her tail curled, almost like a Malamute, and the wolfdog turned back to Kate with a look. Her body was mostly dark fur that shaded to red at her face and then white at her belly and paws. Kate pushed her thumb into the pad of one, felt the clipped nails and the individual toes, and still, the dog didn't protest.

A very good girl.

Castle came back already doing a search online, the laptop cradled against his chest. He slipped into bed and crossed his legs; she leaned her elbow on his thigh so she could see. The dog shifted positions, coming to lay with her head on Castle's leg as well, her body over Kate's lap.

Like she was watching. She nudged Kate's hand with her nose and Kate laughed, resumed petting her.

"These are famous literary wolves. But I don't see anything good."

She pressed her smile into Castle's shoulder and scanned the list. "Maybe famous dogs instead of wolves? Mythological dogs or literary dogs. Either."

"Cujo," Castle laughed, doing the search.

"No," she sighed. "She's not a bad dog. She's a smart dog. Clever."

"There's the mythological she-wolf of Rome."

"She-wolf of-" Kate perked up, glanced at Castle - where they'd gotten married. "Hey. The wolf that nursed the twins Romulus and Remus."

"Yeah."

"She have a name?"

"No," he sighed. "But still, pretty cool connection."

She grinned at him and gave his jaw a soft kiss. "It is. You did good."

"There's White Fang and Buck-"

"No boy adventure stories," Kate groaned. "Come on. She's a beautiful thing. She deserves-"

"Okay, all right," Castle laughed, nudging the dog with his knee, and Kate as well. "Let's see what else we can find. Oh, you ever read those books about feral children being raised by wolves?"

"Hm. Like Julie or Shasta?"

"Yeah. Oh, Shasta. I like that."

"Isn't that a soft drink?" Kate asked with a laugh.

"You're thinking Fanta. But darn. Now I've got this impression of orange soda-"

"No, no. Shasta Cola. Look it up. I swear."

Castle googled it and she was right.

"Ha!" Kate grinned and nudged his shoulder. "Told you so."

He turned his face to her with a slow and gentle smile, like he was pleased with her, like she'd shared some special moment with him.

Oh. Her _mom_ had said that. I told you so. That had been her phrase. Damn. She was her mother all over. Would it be like that with her own kids? Would she ever even _have_ kids to find out?

They had a dog, but really. . .it was irresponsible of them. And to willfully ignore what they both did for a living - even as a detective in the NYPD - children might never be possible.

Wow.

Kate curled up and pressed her head to Castle's shoulder, found herself with a hand on the dog, petting, soothing, fingers in the thick ruff.

Castle kissed her temple as if he knew - and of course he did; he'd looked at her so carefully when she'd thoughtlessly said it. She'd told him the story about how she'd promised her mother she'd never make her kids do chores, and how her mother had laughed and said she was looking forward to saying _I told you so._

Her mother would never be able to say that - but Kate might never either.

That could already be lost to her.

* * *

She was an easy-going dog, falling asleep while Castle argued with Kate over names. The puppy had more dog in her face than wolf, but Castle felt it was important that her name be a testimony of what she'd endured to get here, how she'd survived, but also that it be _fun_. That when they were with the dog, they'd want to laugh, and to play, and to be normal.

They'd eliminated foreign words for wolf, and Kate had gotten up and carried in her own laptop so she could search _without you meddling_, and then they'd gone through a bunch of literary names when finally Castle - on a whim - looked up famous fictional spies.

"Hey, this is cool. I bet there are great names in here." Of course, he didn't want anything too heavy, no martyrs to the cause. Just guys like James Bond and Maxwell Smart.

Kate smiled softly at him, her fingers coming up to trace the line of his neck, before patting his cheek. Like she knew how silly and stupidly proud he was for thinking of this list, and she would indulge him. She turned her eyes to the screen and he felt her hand fall from him.

"You know, this is going to sound strange," Kate said slowly, her eyes on the screen. "But this one I think - it's kinda meant to be?"

"Yeah?" he asked her. He felt strangely proud for having found the list of spy names, and Kate _never_ said things were meant to be. He glanced down at where she was pointing, her finger tracing over the screen.

A strange sensation curled through him when he saw the name.

"Yeah. Actually. One time this-" Kate rolled her eyes and sighed. "We investigated the death of a psychic and her daughter kept coming in to tell me things-"

"Psychic things?" he laughed, and yet still. The name.

"Yes," she groaned. "She said she'd gotten this message that I was to have an Alexander in my life, that he'd become very important to me, save my life."

Castle grinned, his face splitting wide. "You know. . .that's my name."

"What's your name?"

"Alexander."

"No, it's not," she said back automatically.

"It is. It's - my middle name. That my - mother gave me. I've never used it. Just - it's just been Richard Castle since I had a choice in it, but that - was - my name."

She stared at him.

He grinned wider. "Save your life, huh?"

"Become very important to me," she murmured. She shook her head. "Alexander is the agent from I-Spy but that show used to come on in reruns when I was a kid; Bill Cosby was in it. So when the pyschic said that, I remember thinking - _Bill Cosby_ is gonna save my life? It seemed ridiculous and I dismissed it."

"Well, you never know. Bill Cosby is hilarious. He might-"

"Shut up," she muttered, nudging him. "But seeing it on the list now - I just sorta thought it would fit her."

"She's a girl."

"Well, not Alexander. But Sasha. It's - I spent a year in Kiev and that's the nickname for Alexander. It's unisex. And you said she was a watch dog. Sasha means defender."

He grinned. He had liked Seiko a lot - a watch dog - but Kate was right. This one was better.

"See if she wakes up when you call her name," he said, pushing Kate off his leg. Alexander. Sasha. _Very important to you._

Why did he find that so perfect? Like everything was _magic_? Like this was the universe putting things to right, finally.

"If she wakes up to Sasha," he said. "Then that's her name. You said it - meant to be."

Kate shot him a look that said _you're a goofball_, but she leaned over the wolfdog curled up between them and whispered in her ear.

"Sasha. Wake up, puppy. Sash-"

The dog's ears twitched and those slitted eyes opened, blue and alert. Kate sat up - she looked surprised - and the dog lifted her head in watchfulness.

"Hey, Sasha. Good girl," Castle murmured, reaching out to stroke the dog between her ears. She nudged her head up into his hand, nose against his wrist, and he smoothed down her snout with his thumb and fingers.

"Hey there, smart girl," Kate said softly. "I think she likes it."

"Sasha," Castle called. The dog lifted up onto her front paws and cocked her head at him. He grinned and leaned forward to hug her around the neck, rubbing her down briskly. "Good girl. You know your name, don't you?"

"Does she have stuff here? Did you get dishes and a collar and food for her?" Kate pushed on his shoulder and he let go of the dog so she could pet Sasha as well.

"The guy at the foster home gave me all that stuff and the rest of her food. I should put out water for her, show her where it'll be."

"Around the side, Castle. Not where we'll step in it, but back along the bar?"

"Yeah. Sounds good. Sasha. Hey there. With me, puppy."

He got out of bed, collecting both of their laptops, and the dog stood up, stepped primly over Kate's legs, and came with him.

They had a dog.

* * *

"Too hot," Castle explained. "And the bed isn't that big."

Kate still looked reluctant to leave the dog out in the living room alone. "Are you sure she understands? Sasha. Come here, girl."

Sasha got to her feet and came to Kate, nosing straight into Kate's outstretched hand. Castle stood with his hands on his hips and watched Kate try to coerce the dog into the bedroom.

"She doesn't have to sleep in the bedroom, you know." He waited but Kate didn't seem settled with it. "Kate, she's a guard dog. If she wants to sleep in front of the door where she can hear what's going on, where there's a little bit of a draft, then let her."

"I guess you're right," she murmured, finally releasing the dog with a pat on her head and standing up. She walked towards him but kept her eyes on Sasha. "Better for us, I guess."

"I don't want a dog in my bed when you're wearing that," he sighed in relief, slipping his hand under her robe and touching the black lace. He could feel her ribs expand in a sudden breath, and then her eyes were on his.

"Oh yes," she hummed. "True."

He dipped his head to her and his mouth caught hers; he wanted to make the rush of heat and pleasure supplant all of her concern. She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched into his touch, humming.

He loved her. Damn, she was - warm. And strong. And she touched him like she was just discovering her power over him. She touched him like he was the only one who would work for her.

"It's midnight," she said throatily, her hands so very good on him.

"It is," he agreed, burrowing deeper beneath that robe and searching for more skin.

"Merry Christmas, Castle."

"Oh." He pulled away from that luxurious mouth and grinned at her. "Yeah. Merry Christmas. We made it."

She laughed and knocked his hands away from her, untied her robe to let it drop in the floor. "You haven't made it quite yet, super spy."

Castle snagged her by the hips, pushed his knee between her thighs, and nudged her back against the wall of the hallway. She chuckled and gasped when he rocked forward, her laughter turning dizzy and breathless and erotic.

"I'll make it," he said darkly.

She coasted her hands up and down his back, underneath his shirt. "Oh, you better."

Castle bit the side of her neck and palmed her thighs, wrapped her legs around him, then he turned for the bedroom. Over his shoulder he saw the dog at the door with her head tilted funny at them.

"Stay, Sasha," he called back.

Kate pressed her hand between them and he groaned.

"Castle. You come."


	13. Chapter 13

**Close Encounters 4**

* * *

Kate was grateful that Christmas was just another day, and at the same time, she felt the difference between them. The dog was independent, like he'd promised, and laid on the floor by the door with her head in her paws while Kate attempted breakfast. Sasha watched, but she didn't come begging for food.

Her tail swished the floor when Kate brought her broken bits of bacon, and Sasha's tongue licked Kate's fingers for the last of it. When Kate moved back to the kitchen to wash her hands, the dog lifted up and stood by the couch, waiting.

She carried the breakfast tray back with her and the dog followed, a little more energetic now, but Kate was surprised that she never got underfoot. She was a puppy still and yet seemed well-trained and possessed of a natural reserve.

Kate put their breakfast down at the foot of the bed and crawled up until she hovered over Castle; his eyes were already open and his body turning towards her. She could never get the drop on him.

"What're you doing?" he laughed, reaching a hand up to splay at her back.

"I made breakfast."

"Really?"

"Yup, stay there," she said, bending her elbows so she could kiss him. He growled and nipped her bottom lip and Kate laughed, pulling back. "Careful. Sasha will think she's got to fight me for you."

He chuckled and pushed to sit up against the headboard even as she sank back on her feet and reached for the tray. Castle jerked forward to help and Kate settled in at his side, their breakfast laid out in front of them.

"Sasha," she called, patting the side of the bed. The dog gave her a look and then bounded smoothly up to the bed, circled at the foot before lying down. Sasha was giving Castle this pitiful, adoring look that made Kate laugh.

"She is in _love_ with you."

Castle grunted. "Whatever. Have you taken her out?"

"Not yet. And she hasn't seemed desperate, so I thought she could wait." She sat forward to cut a piece from her pancakes, licked syrup from her wrist when it dripped. Castle was eyeing her tongue and she darted it out against her lips to tease him, slowly catch the sticky maple.

"Looks like," he said roughly. "We'll take her out after breakfast. After. . ."

Kate hummed and wouldn't look away, purposefully watched him as he stared at her. "After?"

"After this," he murmured and stroked his hand through her hair to grip her neck, pulled her against him for a kiss.

Her knee hit the tray, but she came anyway, her hands finding his shirt and slipping underneath. His kiss was a little dark, a lot desperate, and she wanted to abandon breakfast. It was Christmas Day and they could definitely start a new tradition here.

And then he stopped, pulled her away with his hands at her jaw. "Breakfast."

"It can wait."

"No, no. You made me breakfast. In bed. I'm having it."

"Let _me _have it."

He laughed and kissed her roughly, put her away again. "Breakfast and then we can have it."

She sighed, but she had to admit she was proud of her breakfast, and he sat forward to dig in, so she did the same. The dog was looking at them both with that raised eyebrow, and Kate grabbed the bacon from her plate and offered it.

"Sash, come on." The dog lifted her head and nosed forward, licked it clean from Kate's fingers.

"Ah, I see how it is. You're cheating to win her affections."

Kate grinned and didn't deny it.

* * *

He stood at the dog park watching Wolf - Sasha - investigate her surroundings. A few others were out, their dogs keeping well away from the wolf, and when Sasha seemed satisfied the place met her standards, she ran and played. Kate had thrown the ball for her, and Sasha went for it, but she didn't bring it back. She played with it on her own.

"I've never seen a dog do that," Kate laughed, turning her body into his. He obliged her unspoken request, wrapped his arms around her waist to block the wind.

"Me either. Though my experience with dogs is limited. She's cute though. Still enough of a puppy."

"She's big."

"Honestly, I thought she was small when I first visited her. But you're right; she's bigger than most of these dogs."

"They're avoiding her, Castle." Kate curled her arms at her chest and peered around him to watch their dog. "Why are they-"

"You sound like a fretful parent."

"Shut up."

"You do," he laughed. "And they're avoiding her because - like you pointed out - she's a wolf. And she's bigger than them."

"But she's so gentle. If they would just-"

"Kate," he grinned, interrupting her. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I didn't take you for the worrying mother hen type."

"I'm not worried."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm not. I hate you. You made me fall in love with a dog."

He laughed again and squeezed her tighter, wished there weren't so many layers between them. "I'm glad you do. I kinda - took her on without telling you and just hoped you'd like her."

"I trust you," she murmured. "I was surprised, but. . ." She let out a long sigh and rubbed her cold nose against his neck. "If you'd asked, I'd have talked you out of it."

"I asked Carrie to take her when we're gone."

"And I have training after Ryan's wedding," she murmured.

"But I'm going to stick around here though. So Sasha will have me, at least."

"One of her parents," she laughed, lifting her face to him. She was in flat boots so her head was tilted back, and he dropped a kiss to that smiling mouth. He knew they were thinking the same thing - how this might mimic life with kids, how it might work out for them.

"We'll have a few more days together, though," he said quietly, cutting his eyes to the dog to check on her. Sasha was jumping over the ball and crouching like it was some evil creature she had to be wary of. "And when you're done with training - I've already got planned the first stage of our assignment."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Arms dealer in Copenhagen."

She hummed and stepped back from him, dropping her arms from his neck but hooking them around his waist. He glanced back at her and could see the excitement, the anticipation in her eyes.

"You're ready to go, aren't you?"

Kate sighed, a little smile lifting her lips. "Yeah. Kinda was going stir crazy before you dropped a dog on my lap."

He laughed and kissed her again. "I'll tell you the details when we get home."

"Yeah?" Her excitement seemed to mirror Sasha's - her head came up, she was on her toes to look at him.

"Yeah," he sighed, shaking his head. "Soon as there are less ears around."

"Call your dog, Castle. We're going home."

* * *

She reviewed assignment pieces while the dog sat half in her lap, the rest of Sasha's long body laid out over the couch. Kate petted her between the tall, pointed, ever-alert ears, and Castle leaned on the back of the couch and made comments over her shoulder.

"Remember when I told you about Foley?"

"Yeah."

"This is a tentacle of his group. We cleaned up what we could and now we're getting the long arms. It's a process."

"There's not a rush on this?" she asked, scratching behind the dog's ears as Sasha made that guttural purring.

"Not like you're thinking. We do need to get it done within the year, but it's not something we can do quickly. The others would know we're coming and fold up shop."

"Hmm," she murmured, reading the details on his laptop. "I get it. This looks do-able."

"I think so. A little tricky there at their stockpile-"

"This old house on the outskirts?"

"Yeah. It's a farm."

"Of course it is," she muttered. Castle laughed and leaned over her to click through to the next page.

"And see, we'll probably have to blow the place. Problem is getting far enough away without them noticing-"

"And finding the explosives?" she asked.

"Exactly."

"Hope it's not like the moonless night over the Channel," she murmured, looking over her shoulder at him. He grinned and kissed her, a quick and tight thing that made her hum. Sasha sat up and nosed between them, nudging her head into Castle's jaw.

He laughed and Kate shook her head, dropped her hand over Sasha's back.

She and the dog - both in love with him.

* * *

Castle was seriously loving their holiday traditions. Sex. Lots of sex. As much as they could, whenever they could, locking the dog out of the bedroom - and one time the bathroom - and just exploring and loving and making up for lost time.

These past two weeks - the one leading up to Christmas and the one leading up to New Year - had been some of the best time he'd spent with her. Not just the sex, but just being together, living together. She'd been restless and a little edgy not having work, and she'd admitted she spent most of the holidays at the 12th, but it had made the sex fantastic.

He found that even their conversations were intense. He'd never shared things before, had never cracked himself open and gutted out his insides to someone like this. He'd never wanted to, never felt the need, but Kate seemed to make it all spill out effortlessly.

He'd accused her of interrogating him and she'd only raised a slim eyebrow, a ghost of a smile slipping across her face.

So she was.

He'd never had anyone that wanted to _know_.

She made him meet up with his mother for drinks at a cafe one evening before the new year, and then he took Kate home and he tried to get drunk just as he tried to ignore the way it gnawed at him - the not knowing. But she kissed him and poured his second shot of vodka down the sink and took him to bed.

When he was with it again, when the haze of pleasure cleared from his brain, he realized she was draped over him, laughing at how _fast_ that had been.

"I hate you," he grumbled into her neck, wrapping his arms around her and flipping them. She laughed again, a little breathless under him, and kissed her mouth.

"You love me," she murmured back, her tongue quick and clever. "Don't try to deny it."

"You make me crazy."

"You love that too."

"I do," he sighed, giving in to the soft and yielding form of her body.

"I know it's - hard," she said softly. "But you're being a good son. Not pushing her for what she can't give."

"I just want to know," he growled, scraping his teeth at her collarbone.

"I know," she sighed, gave him a little strangled laugh. "Believe me, Rick. I know what it is to live with the questions. To not understand. To have the answers so close, so tantilizing, but no way of getting them."

He slumped down into her, forehead to forehead, pressed his lips to hers. Oh, Kate. She opened for him and accepted him inside, and he rolled off of her to align them side by side. He wanted to look at her face.

"Are the answers we have. . .are they enough?"

"No," she whispered. Too honest. She loved him, and he knew it by that simple answer. Her inability to deny him the truth.

"I'll get him, baby. I promise. I'll get him."

She shook her head. "In court, right? He'll go to trial for it."

He opened his mouth, but the love worked both ways. He couldn't promise what he couldn't deliver, and he had to be honest. "I'll take him out."

"No, Castle. Don't. Please."

"Don't worry about it - it won't be soon. There's time yet to build a case. We're still working on it."

"When is time up?" she asked, her fingers coming out to trace the ridge of his eyebrow. "When do you make that call?"

"When we're done investigating him."

"And if - when we're done - he's still here, he's still untouchable?"

"I'll kill him."

"No," she insisted, gripping his ear and tugging him closer. "We do it again. We go at it _again_, Rick."

Her hands were clenching him, tight and on the edge. She didn't have control of herself when it came to this case, and he wouldn't - he couldn't - let it go on that long.

He'd kill the man, and he'd have it done.

"Tell me," she groaned. "Tell me. We go at him again. You and me. Rick. Justice. Tell me."

"We go at him again. Justice."

She let out a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around him, her face buried in his neck, her legs coming to tangle with his.

And it wasn't entirely a lie. If _go at him_ included putting a bullet between his eyes, if _justice _included poisoning him so he died a painful and agonizing death - or any other method of assassination that Castle could implement.

"Thank you," she murmured, something like a cry tangled up in her voice. "Just - you and me, Castle. Partners."

There was no way in heaven he was going to let her get sucked back into that case again.

Even if she hated him for it.

* * *

She held his hand as they walked up the long, wide steps to the church. The arch of the blue front doors reached far above their heads, and they joined the throng of guests shuffling inside.

Esposito was an usher and Beckett saw him first, hurried over to him as she released Castle's hand. Javier ducked his head but allowed the hug, her camera accidentally hitting him in the back as she embraced him.

"Oh, isn't it beautiful?" she murmured, her eyes on the sanctuary behind him. When she pulled back, she turned and grabbed Castle's hand, pulled him to her side.

"Esposito," Castle said with a head nod.

Kate glanced back to her detective and noticed the chill in his eyes. "No. Not-uh, Javier Esposito. Not here. Not today."

He glared at her. "What?"

"You two make up. Right now. I took a bullet for him, he saved my life and broke open my mother's case. So man up and say you're sorry."

"I ain't sorry-"

"Castle," she said, let her fierceness extend to him. "You too. Say you're sorry."

"If he's not sorry, I'm not-"

She reached out and twisted both their ears, brought them low. Castle whined and Esposito snarled, but she tugged their faces close.

"You will apologize and bury the hatchet. And not in each other."

She let go and Castle was up first, rubbing his ear and looking pathetic, if so very handsome. Esposito stuck out his hand, his jaw jutting, eyes narrowed.

"Truce."

Castle studied it almost a moment too long; Kate was just reaching for his ear again when he took Espo's hand and shook.

"Truce. And woman-" He turned to glare at her. "Don't ever do that again."

"I will when you make it necessary."

They stared each other down and then Esposito coughed into his fist. "Can I show you to your seat?"

Beckett broke first, took the arm that Javier offered, but held out the other for her spy. Castle sighed softly and came to her side, allowing her to thread her arm through his and hang on to his bicep.

Esposito glanced back at them, then untangled his arm from hers, patting her hand and letting her go as he stepped into the interior of the church.

"Follow me," he murmured.

Kate walked under the arch with Castle at her side, and his fingers came to tangle with hers against his arm, his lips bowing over her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

Ryan was getting married.

And someday. . .

* * *

end of **Close Encounters 4: Diamonds Are Forever**

and now a sneak peek at **Close Encounters 5: The World Is Not Enough**

* * *

She gave him a look when he held his hand out for her, but she came nevertheless, letting him pull her against his chest and ease her out to the dance floor.

Castle sighed and felt the whole social scene fall away, the sense of manners and propriety and being on his toes. He'd told a lot of lies at Ryan's wedding tonight, and always he caught her smirking at him, but the lies were necessary for their safety.

"So," she hummed against his neck, swaying to the music. Her lips were soft as they brushed over his skin. "From sports agent to the UN?"

He sighed. "I had to give them something."

"Saying you work for the UN doesn't exactly stop the questions," she laughed.

"No, well. Sports agent was a joke between Eastman and myself. I'm terrible at that cover. I don't have time for sports and I guess that's something guys usually get from their dads? I don't know that usually works."

She fluttered her fingers at his neck. "I learned from my dad," she agreed softly. "But the UN?"

"It's right here in the city. It requires travel. They already have a staff on-site who will route inquiries back to us."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and - this is stupid, but. . ."

She hummed a question into his cheek, so tall in these shoes, and he skimmed his hand up and down her back, delaying. He loved the feel of her in these shoes, in this dress, the warmth of her skin.

"Rick?"

"I had to have a cover identity to adopt that damn dog."

She laughed brightly at his ear, her voice like bubbles popping and fizzing, the champagne of her amusement. "Oh, oh, Castle. Really?"

"I had to send in an application and have a job and references and - I used your dad and my mother."

"Your mother?"

"It didn't go so well," he reported darkly.

She cupped her fingers at his nape and curled her fingers through the short hairs there. "Give her time. It'll come."

He sighed and fit her closer against him; he realized he'd slid his knee between hers and she was sighing out softly and resting there, one hand under his jacket and pressing into his back.

"It's just the cover story I made for the dog," he said finally.

"I kinda love that you're telling everyone the story you had to make up for our dog."

He gave a little laugh and nuzzled her nose with his, kissed her under her closed eye.

"What else, Castle?"

"Well, as you heard, it's Rodgers. So don't let anyone hear you with that Castle stuff, huh?"

"Yes, sir," she murmured, deliciously decadent in his ear. "Richard Rodgers. Hmm, I like it."

"I work as a translator at the UN. There's even a number to call. The address I gave is yours-"

"Better be," she muttered, but she was still laughing a little.

"And I tell everyone I meet that you're engaged to marry me," he finished.

She gasped a little at that, pressed her body closer to his, her hand gripping his neck. "Oh, yes. Though in some places, we already are."

He smiled into the bright light of the ball room, the dazzling decorations and the soft music, and her body - oh, Kate Beckett's body aligned with his, her voice in his ear.

"They keep asking if we've set a date," he murmured. "But I can't give them one, Kate. I can't give you one either, and I'm so sorry-"

"Rick," she murmured, shaking her head against his cheek.

"I want you to marry _me_. Not Richard Rodgers. Not some damn cover story. Me. But I - I don't know when that will be possible."

"We'll figure it out. And Rodgers isn't a cover story, love. That's your real name."

"Not anymore."

She soothed him with her fingers against his nape. "Okay, all right. Castle. I don't care when we get married. Or how. That you asked is enough. The wedding in Italy - beautiful. That's all I need."

But he wanted to give her so much. A huge wedding in New York with all her family and friends, with a groom who could stand up beside her in public.

But it might never be.

* * *

stay tuned. . .


End file.
